Instances
by Misaia
Summary: Even when you have millennia to spend together, sometimes all it takes is a moment to fall in love all over again. Fun-sized glimpses into Thor and Loki's domestic life. Updated frequently.
1. Redamancy

Written to Procession of Spirits: Spirited Away OST, crosspost from AO3

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><p>Thor finds Loki beautiful all the time. Of course, he is different in many beautiful ways, and Thor delights in finding grace in the curve of Loki's smile, the bend of his waist, the arch of his eyebrows as he stares at Thor from across the room, a book lying forgotten on his lap and Modi cradled in the other arm.<p>

Beautiful underneath him, writhing and gasping and crying out for more and more and more. Unsatiable.

Beautiful on top of him, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of Thor's waist, his skin warm and slippery with sweat where Thor held him by the hips, his head tossed back and the graceful lines of his throat bobbing as he swallowed back moans and whimpers so that Modi wouldn't wake in the next room.

Beautiful as he sits across from Thor at the breakfast table, bags under his eyes from a sleepless night of tending to the children in the nursery (Modi refused to go to sleep and stay asleep unless someone was there to rock him into dreams, and Jörmungandr wasn't exactly the best of playmates).

But Thor thinks the most beautiful Loki has ever been is the moment in which he looks down at Thor on bended knee, a sheen of tears swimming in his green eyes, twin dimples appearing in the corners of his smiling mouth as he holds out his hand for Thor to slip the slender silver ring on, and says "Yes."


	2. Gökotta

Written to: Lisztomania - Phoenix, crosspost from AO3.

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><p><em><strong>Gökotta: <strong>Dawn picnic to hear the first birdsong; the act of rising in the early morning to watch the birds or to go outside to appreciate nature._

It's well known that Loki isn't a morning person; unfortunately for him, Thor and Modi both take great delight in waking up at the very crack of dawn, something that Loki will never understand.

The morning (well, it's more still night, really, the sun hasn't even broken over the horizon and the sky is all grey still) that Thor takes him by the hand and drags him out of the comfort of their warm bed, Loki sleepily tries to bat him away, but Thor's grip is too firm. When Loki tries to ground his heels into the soft rug, tries to pull away, Thor just cheerfully smiles at him, golden, and swings him up into his arms, cradling him like he does Modi. Modi, for his part, is carefully ensconced in one of those baby carrier things, and still dozing, his cheek smushed up against Thor's chest and his small tufts of hair wild, uncombed.

Loki curls into himself, into the protective shelter of Thor's arms as the other god gracelessly kicks open the door and the early morning chill drapes over him with cold and wet and the smell of dew. He lets Thor cover him and Modi with his red cape, cradles Modi close against his chest, and listens to Thor's footsteps crunching over slightly frosty grass with closed eyes.

"Loki, fairest," Thor says after a few minutes of walking, in which Loki is well on the way to being lulled into sleep again and Modi has drooled quite a copious amount all over Thor's chest, "open your eyes."

Loki pouts, but follows Thor's wishes, turns his head away from the crook of Thor's shoulder. He watches the sky light up, streaks of orange and pink and gold reaching up from the horizon to paint the underbellies of the clouds with fire. Watches the sun drag itself up over the distant mountain ranges, its light racing across the ground.

He watches the sunrise paint Thor's face with gold, and thinks that perhaps he could try to be a morning person more often, too.


	3. Sirimiri

Written to: Never Let Me Go - Florence and the Machine, crosspost from AO3.

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><p><em><strong>Sirimiri:<strong> __A light rain, a fine drizzle._

Loki hums a little tune to himself as he rocks Modi in one arm, the other hand spread out among the pages of a book. Outside the nursery window, a storm rages, muted by the thick glass and by Loki's seidr, muffling the claps of thunder for Modi's little ears. Rain beats down against the window, drawing little watery lines of shadow across Modi's cheeks, and he reaches out tiny fingers to try and catch the little grey drops running across his skin.

Thor is training for future battles, calling the thunder and the lightning and the wind to swirl around him and do his bidding. Loki has seen his brother (his fiancé, now, he supposes, looking at the soft silver glint on his finger) gripping Mjolnir firmly, raising it above his head to send it smashing down on the head of some unlucky opponent, has admired his strength and force from a safe distance. Thor, for all his roughness, has a grace that Loki could never hope to possess: rough and raw and polished all at once, the sharp edges of diamonds, beautiful in its ferocity.

The balcony door bursts open with a loud bang, and Modi squeals in surprise. Loki, who has had millennia to get used to Thor's abrupt, loud entrances, quickly closes his book and cuddles Modi to his chest to calm the baby's squalling before turning to look at Thor.

Thor is framed in a white flash of lightning, his hair dripping, Mjolnir dangling loosely in one hand. The clap of thunder follows not even a few seconds later, and, unmuffled by the thick wood and glass of the balcony door, is much louder. Modi begins to wail, and Jörmungandr, rudely woken from his afternoon nap, slithers down from his pillow and up Loki's body, twining himself around his mother's shoulders to stare down at the little pink thing fussing in its bundle of blankets.

Thor crosses the room quickly, gently setting Mjolnir down on the floor, wrapping Loki in a tender embrace from behind. Loki feels the rain soaking into his robes, but allows Thor to hug him close and peer over his shoulder at squalling bundle.

"What is it, beloved?" Thor asks gently, reaching down to stroke a broad thumb across Modi's tear-stained cheek. Modi grabs at the thumb and clings tightly, snuffling. "Why must you despair?"

Loki smiles quietly and bounces Modi up and down in his arms. "He is scared of the storm, I think. It is very loud, and he is not used to such noises. They are big and frightening."

Outside, the storm abates, the grey clouds growing lighter as Thor commands, until all that is left is the soft pattering of a light drizzle on the balcony stones outside.

Modi looks up at Loki, his eyes huge and blue and wet, still clinging to Thor's thumb with a tight grip. His cries dissolve into tiny hiccups, and Loki smiles down at his son reassuringly.

Jörmungandr flicks out a tiny forked tongue to lick at the tear tracks on Modi's cheeks, makes a face. They are salty, and not at all to his liking. Modi giggles hesitantly, tiny pockets of brightness in the air, and Jory looks at the fat pink thing in distaste and slithers away to a cushion, settling in for another nap.


	4. Arcadian

Written to: Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol, crosspost from AO3.

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><p><em><strong>Arcadian<strong>:Idyllically innocent; simple and untroubled by fear or worry._

Thor really doesn't understand the Midgardian fascination with wars and petty quarrels about equally as trivial things. Their lifetimes are so short to him, just a blink of an eye, and he is incredibly puzzled as to why they would throw the gift of life away so easily.

He can understand what the Man of Iron says, about the metal tang of blood in your nose and red in your eyes, of the cries of victory ringing so deeply in your ears that you can't hear anything else. He can understand the glory of war, of conquest.

What Thor doesn't understand is the fear, the intolerance that drives these battles. Differences in their beliefs, differences in the colours of their skin, even the tiniest contrast is enough to set them afire.

The Lady Natasha told him that Midgardians were afraid of things they didn't understand, afraid of the unknowns in the night, around the corner, in their closets. That even though many advocated change, progress towards a better world, there were equally as many who feared it and dug their heels in to try to make time stand still.

"It is a better world now than it was, I guess," she'd said, looking out over the New York skyline as they stood on the tower balcony. The lights of the skyscrapers played across her face, danced across the plane of her cheeks, and not for the first time, Thor was struck by how fragile she was. How short-lived they all were by comparison.

"But humans, we're not like you. We only have a few decades to live, and we all want to spend that time happy in our ideal world. The problem is, our ideal world never matches up to anyone else's. We spend all our life chasing perfection, and then when it's time for us to die, we look back and realise that, yeah, sure, it might not have been perfect, but it was pretty damn good."

Thor thinks about this for a long time, long after Natasha takes her leave to go to bed, and he watches the red and gold lines of traffic speed away underneath his feet.

When he returns to Asgard, Loki is already curled up on his side in their bed, fast asleep. Loki had been feeling a bit under the weather, and his body has automatically redirected his energies towards healing himself, causing his glamour to fade.

Thor clambers onto the bed, carefully, so as not to disturb his sleeping brother, and takes one of Loki's hands in his. Loki's chilled blue fingers lie elegant against his own, and Thor runs his thumb across the deep red-purple etchings across Loki's skin.

He lies down fully, drawing Loki close to him under the fur blankets. His brother's face turns towards him, the soft candlelight dancing across his indigo lips. Loki's brow, for once, is not furrowed in exasperation or irritation, and Thor clutches his brother's hand and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Thor slips quietly into dreams, Loki's breath cool against his throat.


	5. Hygge

Written to Eyes as Candles - Passion Pit, crosspost from AO3.

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><p><em><strong>Hygge: <strong>A complete absence of anything annoying or emotionally overwhelming; taking pleasure from the presence of gentle, soothing things._

"Your daddy is really stupid, do you know that?" Loki asks Modi one afternoon, bouncing the baby up and down his lap. Modi smiles up at him toothlessly, blows a little spit bubble with tiny lips.

_Loki had overheard Thor talking to Sif just a few moments earlier as they walked through the halls of the castle after a particularly intense training session. _

_"You must be so glad the baby looks like you," Sif had commented. _

_"Aye," Thor commented offhandedly, twirling Mjolnir around carelessly and not catching sight of Loki in the shadows by the nursery door, Jörmungandr coiled around his shoulders. "Quite glad indeed." _

_Loki hadn't stayed to hear any more and slipped back through the crack in the nursery door, closing it quietly behind him. As such, he does not hear what follows, when Thor continues with, "It would not matter what he looked like, I would love him all the same. He is mine and Loki's. He could not possibly be less than wonderful."_

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><p>"You don't mind it, do you?" Loki asks Modi, who looks up at him with huge blue eyes. "You'd still be happy even if you had my skin, wouldn't you, sweetling?" Loki allows his glamour to fade a touch, letting the deep blue show through, and Modi stares curiously at him before stuffing a tiny fist into his mouth and smiling gummily at Loki through a mouth full of fingers. Loki cannot help but smile back and lean forward to press a kiss to Modi's wispy curls of blonde hair.<p>

When he pulls away, Modi pulls his fingers out of his mouth, wipes them unceremoniously on Loki's robe and then squeezes his eyes shut, furrowing his little brow in concentration. Loki watches in utter amazement as blue streaks of colour shoot across his son's skin, spreading across his face, his chubby arms. The blue is not quite as pronounced as Loki's, more of a subtle undertone, just the shadings of it, dusting his rosy cheeks a soft violet and colouring the whites of his eyes with a gentle red.

Loki is so entranced by this, catching Modi's baby blue fingers in his own navy ones, that he does not hear the nursery door opening, does not hear nor feel Thor's deep footsteps across the nursery carpet.

"Loki, love," Thor's voice calls out softly, and Loki jumps in surprise, turning. Upon seeing Thor, Loki pulls Modi closer to himself, trying in vain to hide the baby's skin.

Thor tilts his head, looks down at the two of them. Modi, catching a glimpse of Thor, smiles up at him in delight and holds out his hands, opening and closing like starfish, wanting Thor to hold him.

Thor takes him from Loki's slack arms, examines the gentle red etchings dusting across Modi's plump cheeks, and, much to Loki's vast surprise, returns Modi's smile with a broad grin of his own.

"Oh, Modi, look at you," Thor says, and Modi squeals in laughter as Thor tickles him with his beard. "You look like your mama, how beautiful! I am so glad."

Loki watches Modi pat bluish fingers against Thor's face, and breathes out a soft sigh of relief, a smile blossoming across his amethyst lips.


	6. Oscitancy

Written to: The Tip of the Iceberg - Owl City, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Oscitancy: <strong>yawning, being drowsy or inattentive._

"Modi, darling, you can't go to sleep yet," Thor says gently, prodding Modi's chubby cheek with his thumb as he cradles Modi in the other arm. "It is not time for bed." Modi purses his tiny lips up at Thor in distaste, his frown exactly like Loki's, and Thor cannot help but smile down at the little being in his arms.

It had been a parenting tip from one of the books the Man of Iron and the Lady Pepper had given to Thor when he'd told them of how Modi kept waking up throughout the night and disrupting his and Loki's sleep. The book recommended keeping the baby up during the day and not allowing it to take any naps so that it would be more likely to sleep during the night.

It had positively broken Thor's heart when he'd had to jiggle Modi up and down in his arms as the baby began to drift off in the midmorning hours after suckling down a bottle of formula. And the time after that, at noon, when Modi's eyelids had fluttered and his fingers had splayed lax against Thor's chest. And the time after that too, in mid afternoon, when Modi had started to cry and beat his little fists against Thor's arm in between yawns that stretched his mouth into perfect ovals.

Loki comes into the nursery, and Thor draws him onto his lap and allows him to cradle Modi in his arms. Loki unbuttons his robe and lifts out a breast (no longer quite as swollen, nor as painful, but Thor preferred to believe otherwise) for Modi to suck. The baby's fingers curl tightly into the soft fabric of Loki's robe as Modi sleepily lets his mouth fall open and sucks halfheartedly.

Thor watches, his chin set on Loki's shoulder, as Modi's cheeks puff in and out with his swallows. Modi rolls away after a few gulps, his tiny lips shiny with milk in the soft yellow light of the nursery, and Loki gently shifts him to his shoulder and pats his back reassuringly to burp him.

After a tiny belch that sounds more like a hiccup but still has Thor grinning all the same, Loki gently cradles Modi against his shoulder and rubs his back soothingly. From where his head rests in the hollow of Loki's neck, Modi glowers at Thor, a diluted version of his mother's more concentrated glare; the full effect is quite lost, with Modi's eyelids constantly slipping down.

"It's alright now, Modi, you can sleep now," Thor murmurs gently. "You can go to bed now, you've been so tired all day, haven't you? And you're going to sleep all through the night, yes you are, my sleepy baby..."

Modi drifts off, and after a few moments, Loki gently disentangles himself from Thor's embrace and walks over to the cradle to set Modi down. Thor follows, watches as Loki tucks in the soft quilts around Modi's tiny body before bending down to lay a soft kiss on Modi's brow.

That night, when the moon is still full and high in the sky and Loki lies flush and trembling beside him in their bed, Thor braces himself for the cries and whimpers that usually arise from the nursery at around this time. He waits with bated breath, and when there is nothing but silence and the soft, hot puffs of Loki's post-orgasm gasps, Thor finally, finally allows himself to relax.


	7. Accismus

Written to: Life in Technicolor ii - Coldplay, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Accismus: <strong>Feigning disinterest in something while actually desiring it. _

"Will your friends be coming?" Loki wants to know, sitting on the nursery and playing peek-a-boo with Modi, who was lying on the soft nursery carpet and waving his little hands about in the air, squealing with laughter whenever Loki would take his hands away from his face.

"I would like them to, if that would be acceptable with you," Thor says from his perch in the armchair, where he sat perusing some Midgardian wedding catalogues that the Lady Pepper had given him, brochures she had already looked through for her upcoming wedding with Anthony. "I know you have had...some disagreements with them in the past."

Loki laughs, and Modi echoes him a moment later, giggling brightly. "Some disagreements? That is quite an understatement."

Jörmungandr slithers over from the block of ice he was teething at to look at his mother and the fat pink thing playing. Clearly the baby was not discriminating about entertainment; Jory had seen it staring with unabashed delight at the little mobile of multicoloured butterflies hanging above its cradle. The baby serpent really couldn't understand it, and had even tried to give the baby one of its stuffed rat plushies so that they could play hunters together, but the fat pink thing had looked at it with distaste and gone back to staring at the butterflies. Also, the baby couldn't move, so Jory supposed it was all for the better, the game might have been quite boring.

Thor flips through a few glossy pages of the magazine, looking at the happy couples smiling and holding hands, wreathed in white flowers. He didn't suppose Loki would want to wear a Midgardian wedding dress (those things looked rather constricting, and, if Thor was being honest, rather itchy), and he wondered if he would consent to wearing the dove grey linen robes that were customary for Asgardian wedding ceremonies. Grey didn't suit Loki's skin tone very well, as his brother had insisted many times, it made him look sallow and pale and malnourished and he was clearly none of those things.

"What about the invitations?" Thor asks, looking at the cream-coloured envelopes with silvery vines trailing across the thick paper. "According to this book, they ought to be themed somehow."

"I don't mind," Loki says cheerfully, lying down on the floor next to Modi and blowing little raspberries onto his stomach. Modi was squealing with laughter and flailing around. Thor smiles down at them briefly before going back to the book. He had told the other Avengers that the wedding was to be held in a few months' time, and so far, he and Loki had absolutely nothing planned for it.

Thor makes a note in the book by the invitation section to inquire whether golden invitations with crimson inlay would be too extravagant or not extravagant enough.

"What should the wedding flowers be?" Thor asks Loki, who doesn't appear to be listening. "Roses? Lilies?"

"You decide," Loki tells him, trying to disentangle the firm grip Modi has on his hair. "I am neither here nor there on the matter."

Thor furrows his brow, looks down at the glossy pages of the catalogue, and pencils in copious notes here and there amongst the fine print.

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><p>Later that night, when Thor is deep in dreams, his arms wrapped tightly around Loki's waist, Loki summons the wedding catalogues to his side of the bed and opens them quietly, flipping through the sleek pages and looking at the notes Thor had made.<p>

He wrinkles his nose in distaste at some of the comments ("Red and gold invitations?" he mutters under his breath, "how gaudy." Thor mutters something in his sleep beside him and rubs his beard against Loki's shoulder blade.) and smiles at others (By the cake section, Thor has written "More than one cake, Loki loves cake. Laufey too, unfortunately").

Loki flips back to the beginning of the catalogue, a big grin on his face, takes up a pencil and begins to make edits with delight.


	8. Hon'ne

Written to Lakehouse - Of Monsters and Men, crosspost from AO3.

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><p><em><strong>Hon'ne: <strong>What a person truly believes; the behaviour and opinions which are often kept hidden and only displayed with one's closest confidants._

"Farbauti," Laufey says to his wife as he holds the envelope in his hand, the thick cream-coloured stock cool in his blue fingers. "It is a letter for us." It was addressed to the whole royal court of Jotunheimr, but Helblindi didn't concern himself with the Nine Realms Postal Service, preferring to get his mail and information from other sources, and Byleistr, of course, had been far too infatuated with the Thor clone Loki had so kindly sent over to bother with such trivial things as mail.

Farbauti holds out her slender hand, and Laufey deposits the envelope into it, looking at her with anticipation. It wasn't often that they got mail in Jotunheimr; usually the couriers got lost in the icy wilderness, or got mauled by bears or something of the like. It must have been a very important letter indeed, for it to actually reach the palace.

She tears open the envelope gracefully, pulls out the cream-coloured invitation inlaid with silvery red and green vines. She smiles; the colours remind her of a Midgardian holiday she had coerced Laufey into going down to the realm for once.

"We are delighted to invite you to attend the wedding of Loki Laufeyson and Thor Odinson," the card read in elegant script that Farbauti was sure was Loki's hand. She smiles in remembrance, how she had taught him to write his first words, how he'd stuck his little purple tongue out as he concentrated hard and held the quill in unsteady fingers as he made his a's and b's big and curving across the page and smiled up at her afterwards.

"What is it?" Laufey asks, looking at her curiously.

"It is a wedding invitation," she replies, holding out the card for him to see. "For Loki and the prince Thor."

Laufey furrows his brow in irritation at the mention of Thor's name, and Farbauti has a stifle a giggle. She pats the throne beside her, beckoning Laufey to sit.

"Is he really that bad?" she asks, smiling. "Do you really despise him so?"

Laufey looks at the invitation murderously, as if it would suddenly sprout fangs and bite him by the slightest provocation. "Yes," he spits out venomously. "I do hate him."

Farbauti smiles quietly, watches Laufey as his red eyes roam over the cursive and the portrait at the bottom of the two of them, heads tilted towards each other, Modi squished in between them; Farbauti watches her husband's gaze soften as he looks at the portrait, watches the softening of his grim mouth at the corners.

After a few moments, Laufey sighs and closes the card, handing it back to Farbauti. "He is happy," Laufey admits grudgingly, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "Loki is happy."

"Yes," Farbauti says softly, slotting the card back into the envelope and preparing a mental list of wedding gifts they could give to their youngest. "The prince Thor does appear to make him very happy, uncouth though he may be."

More silence fell across the throne room, and Farbauti wonders what her son would like. She knows he is fascinated with Midgardian technology, and furrows her brow in concentration as she thinks of all the devices that she could possibly procure for him. A toaster? Microwave? Those sounded elegant and sophisticated, a true sign of modernity and humanity's greatest achievements, Farbauti thinks.

Laufey clears his throat, interrupting her from her reverie. "I have...been a little harsh towards the prince, in the past," he says, not looking at her, but she can see the telltale flush of embarrassment creeping across his face. "He is...rather a good person. I think he will make a good match, a good father..." Laufey frowns, as though it pains him to say this. "A good king."

Farbauti smiles and reaches out, clutches her husband's hand in her own. He returns her smile, a bit hesitantly, stroking his thumb over hers softly.

"Would you mind writing the acceptance?" Laufey asks after a few moments. "My penmanship is unwieldy, as you have pointed out many times over the centuries."

Farbauti smiles, leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Of course."


	9. Resistentialism

Written to Stay Young, Go Dancing - Death Cab for Cutie, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Resistentialism: <strong>when inanimate objects seem to demonstrate spiteful or hostile behaviour towards humans. _

"Loki, darling, would you like some help?" Thor says, trying to stifle his laughter as Loki struggles with the small pegs and screws of the bookcase he was attempting to assemble. Loki had been absolutely determined that Modi be given the gift of literature and written words from the earliest age possible, and had acquired a large amount of children's books from all across the nine realms (although Thor would have to look over the items Loki had gotten from Svartalfheim, children's books from that particular realm were notorious for causing nightmares and Thor would not have been surprised if Malekith had had a major hand in writing all of them).

Upon asking his fellow Avengers for book recommendations for Modi, Thor had gotten some Midgardian books for the child as well, all with big words and soft, creamy pages with lovely, colourful drawings that Thor found rather cute and which Loki found rather simple.

"Why in the world would anybody want to eat green eggs?" Loki had asked, upon catching the title of one of the books Thor had brought back. "Perhaps Midgardians are not as smart as we have given them credit for, if they cannot recognise an expired egg as such."

The Man of Iron had also taken Thor to a fantastically large shoppe called IKEA and told him that there were several lovely, functional pieces of furniture there that he could purchase, that he would probably need a bookshelf of sorts. Thor had agreed and had selected one he saw in a model child's bedroom, a deep cherry colour with big shelves and cubbies for toys and stuffed animals. Although why the bears in Midgard were so small, Thor had no idea. Perhaps they were bear cubs? But that seemed positively barbaric. Anthony had told him they weren't actual stuffed bears, but Thor was inclined to believe quite the opposite.

Unfortunately, Anthony hadn't told him how difficult the assembly of the bookshelf was to be.

Loki curses rather violently (or at least, it sounded like cursing, Thor wasn't quite sure what language that was) as he bangs his fingers for the umpteenth time attempting to hammer the shelves together. He throws his hands up in despair and glowers at the wood, and Thor laughs. He can't help it.

Loki casts him a withering look before standing up, dusting himself off, and flouncing out of their bedroom rather dramatically.

Thor smiles down at the pile of shelves and wooden dowels meant to hold them together, sits down on the floor, and whistles as he taps Mjolnir carefully along the shelves and brings the bookcase together.

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><p>Loki is, for his part, amazed when he comes back an hour or so later and sees the bookcase standing completed in the middle of their room.<p>

"You've actually managed to follow instructions for once," Loki says, sounding more incredulous than exasperated, and Thor smiles innocently at him.

Of course, the bookcase is too wide to be pushed through their bedroom doors, and Loki has another fit before blasting the entire door off its hinges with a stream of green sparks and a marvellously great bang. Thor watches, amusement in his eyes, as Loki half-drags, half-pushes the bookcase through the new hole in the wall, grumbling the whole way to the nursery.


	10. Oniochalasia

Written to You Make Me - Avicii, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Oniochalasia:<strong> Buying or shopping as a method of stress relief or relaxation._

Wedding planning was indeed just as hard as those Midgardian romantic comedies would lead him to believe, and with the royal wedding only a few months' time away, Loki was thrown into a full fledged panic. There was still so much to do and so much to plan, and Thor wasn't helping matters at all.

Loki snaps when Thor asks him if they could include phoenix downs in the wedding favours bags.

"No, definitely not!" Loki shrieks, tugging at his hair. Loki had been getting rather fond of Asgard's slowly growing phoenix population, lovely as they were, and he would absolutely not see them plucked bald and wrinkled and featherless like common poultry. And just the thought of Anthony Stark using a phoenix down to pen a letter (if he could stoop to that level, heaven forbid he get his hands stained with ink) made Loki see red.

"Loki, fairest," Thor calls over, trying to placate him. "It was just a thought."

"Well, you would be wise to keep your thoughts to yourself next time," Loki snarls rather viciously before disappearing in a puff, and leaving Thor rather confused on the nursery floor, surrounded by glossy catalogues.

"Your mama is a little bit crazy," Thor informs Modi, who looks at him with big blue eyes from his bassinet. Modi just gives Thor a long-suffering gaze that looks altogether like Loki reincarnate, before sighing, stuffing his thumb in his mouth, and taking a nap.

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><p>"You have to promise you won't cause a scene," Darcy tells him as she backs carefully out of her driveway. Loki had, not even half an hour ago, popped into her bathroom with a little puff of green smoke and commanded her to take him to the shoppes. "There's no other H&amp;Ms in a 50-mile radius."<p>

Loki examines his nails and rolls his eyes. "If that is what you desire."

"What's gotten into you?" Darcy asks, eyeing him out of the corner of her eye. Loki had had the good graces to send her a wedding invitation, and Darcy was well aware of the impending wedding. "Shouldn't you be planning your wedding?"

Loki snorts, looks out the Honda's window at the tall skyscrapers of New York. "It's difficult to plan a wedding with an imbecile for a husband. He wanted to pluck phoenix downs and give them out as favours. Can you imagine? Phoenix downs! I know you Midgardians have no concept of value, but a single phoenix feather is worth more than tens of millions of your petty birds."

"Would they bring people back from the dead?" Darcy asks. She had been an avid Final Fantasy fan since high school.

Loki stares at her in disbelief. "No, of course not," he says, as if it were obvious. "Don't ask such asinine questions."

Darcy makes a mental note to herself to somehow get her hands on one of the feathers.

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><p>"Loki, I'm pretty sure this is illegal," Darcy tells him as he walks out of yet another shoppe laden down with bags. "You can't just counterfeit money like that, it'll ruin the economy."<p>

Loki smiles cheerfully as he sits down beside her, adding his bags to the giant pile beside Darcy and taking a sip of Darcy's latte.

"Your economy is trashed anyway," he informs her sweetly, before gesturing down at himself. "And I look amazing."

Darcy looks, and has to grudgingly admit that Loki looks better in black skinny jeans than she ever will.


	11. Groak

Written to: Love Is an Open Door - Frozen Soundtrack, Hans (Santino Fontana) and Anna (Kristen Bell), crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Groak: <strong>To stare longingly at someone who is eating in the hope that they will ask you to join them._

Loki glares at Thor, who is stuffing his face with hams, piling the bones messily up on an empty plate beside him. Thor had killed the boar only a few hours ago, and was already nearly three-quarters of the way through consuming it. Loki sniffs in disgust and looks down at his own scant plate of celery and carrot sticks with distaste.

Loki had been absolutely aghast when he'd taken out his traditional Jotunheimr ceremonial garb the other day and discovered that it was cinching a bit too tightly around the waist for him to breathe properly. He had stood in front of the bath's silvered looking-glass and examined himself critically, and was absolutely horrified to find that all those Midgardian sweets he was so fond of had started to show a bit. Thor, the imbecile that he was, didn't seem to mind, and told Loki of a Midgardian saying about cushions that Loki didn't particularly understand while trying to coerce him into bed.

Loki had only grudgingly conceded, because those sorts of activities burnt calories.

Loki looks down at his plate glumly, prodding a limp stalk of celery forlornly. After telling Frigga about his problems, she'd apparently told the cooks to put a hold on his cake consumption until he could suitably fit into his wedding garments again. And, of course, he could just simply magic cake for himself, but that would completely defeat the purpose of having someone else make them for him.

Loki looks over at Thor again, and has to dig his fingers into his napkin to restrain himself as Thor shovels large bites of jam cake into his mouth. Thor feels his heavy gaze, looks back at him, crumbs of pastry stuck in his beard. Thor glances down at Loki's plate of carrots and celery, back at his longing gaze, back to the vegetables again.

Thor looks around, making sure the queen isn't anywhere in sight, before quickly pushing a slice of cake across the table, his smile sticky, and Loki cannot help but smile back as he takes up a fork.


	12. Qualtagh

Written to: For the First Time in Forever - Frozen OST, Anna (Kristen Bell) and Elsa (Idina Menzel). More focused on the Anna side of the song than Elsa's, but...eh. Elsa's side is good too, just not as fitting for this chapter, crosspost from AO3.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Qualtagh: <strong>The first person you meet on a special day._

Loki hadn't seen Thor in two weeks; it was some strange Midgardian custom about the bride and groom not seeing each other that Thor had insisted upon observing as a nod to his fellow Avengers. Loki thought it was completely absurd, and had searched through all of Asgard for the other god; when he couldn't find him, Loki began a frantic search through the rest of the nine realms (when he got to Svartalfheim, Malekith glared at him and hissed like a dying cat; clearly Loki wasn't welcome there, not since the accident) to no avail.

And he had eventually given up, taking solace in dressing Modi up in his tiny ceremonial robes. Jory had been given a set of clothing, too, for the royal wedding, but the baby serpent hated the tiny knitted sweater, thought it was far too itchy around his neck and what were the sleeves for, really, were these people blind, he didn't have arms.

"You look gorgeous, darling," Farbauti says gently, snapping Loki out of his thoughts. He examines himself in the looking glass, admires the cool silver silk threaded through with deep ivy threads draped over his shoulders.

"Yes, just one thing," Frigga adds, turning to fetch something from her dresser. When she turns back, she smiles up at Loki, opening her hands to him, displaying a slender golden circlet. "Let me put this on for you?"

Loki smiles, bends his head down, lets Frigga arrange the circlet over his temples. Frigga steps back to stand by Farbauti, the two of them smiling proudly up at him, and Loki bites the inside of his cheek to stop the tears crawling up his throat from spilling.

"Thank you," he says softly. "Thank you both, so, so much."

* * *

><p>Loki stands before the closed chapel door, hearing the voices inside, and tries to quell the hammering of his heart, clinging tightly to Laufey's arm on one side and Odin's on the other. He thinks that Odin, today, looks particularly like the sultan from an animated Midgardian movie he had once seen, and he has to stifle the urge to giggle crazily as the doors swing open gently in front of them and they start to move forward.<p>

All the guests stand, and their faces blur in front of Loki, all bright eyes and smiles of awe and amazement. He sees Darcy standing at the front, pretty in a simple, creamy blue dress, taking her place as maid of honour; sees the other Avengers dressed in formal clothing as various bridesmaids and groomsmen. He glares at Anthony, but the Man of Iron either ignores him or doesn't see him through the lacy veil that covers Loki's face. He prefers to think it was the latter.

Laufey and Odin part to the sides, depositing Loki by Thor, and the high priest begins the ceremony in a low, droning voice that would have Loki dozing off if he hadn't been so excited and jumpy.

Loki doesn't catch most of the ceremony, the words rushing through him and over him, not staying long enough for comprehension.

He comes back to himself as Thor turns to him, lifts up his broad hands and gently, gently pulls back the veil. Without the lace to cover his sight, Loki is surprised when he sees the tears shining in Thor's blue eyes, and he begins to worry that something is wrong.

"Oh, Loki," Thor whispers, cradling his face in his hands, "you are so lovely."

Loki feels the tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes as he smiles brilliantly, and returns Thor's kiss and tight embrace while the hall erupts in applause around them.


	13. Culaccino

Written to: Summer - Joe Hisaishi, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Culaccino<strong>_: _The ring left on a table by a cold glass._

Loki looks at the guests, twirling around in happy pairs, skirts of all colours and lengths perfect circles of motion. He sits down heavily in his chair at the head of the festivities, glad to rest his aching feet for just a few moments, smiling as Thor hoists a small, blonde Asgardian child for a dance.

The ale and wine flow freely from pitcher to glass, and everyone's eyes are sparkling and bright with merriment. In the corner, Laufey had managed to snatch away an entire sheet cake just for himself, and was regaling a rather drunk Odin with tales of war and conquest in between huge bites that left crumbs all around his mouth. Frigga was laughing and talking to Farbauti about something or other as the frost queen petted Jory's head and let the little snake nibble at her fingers. Jory had given her the puppy dog look (or as best he could, anyway, he was a snake after all, and his eyes were quite beady) and had coerced her into taking the itchy sweater off, and so he was more than happy to let her pet him and rub his head while he stole tiny nibbles of ham off her plate when he thought she wasn't looking.

Helblindi is talking animatedly to Darcy about something, gesturing wildly in the air, and Loki catches a glimpse of something brilliant scarlet in between his fingers. He wonders if it is a phoenix feather, wonders what on earth Helblindi could possibly have in common with Darcy Lewis. He watches with amused curiosity as Helblindi shyly holds out the feather to her, smiles as she takes it eagerly and says something to Helblindi that has his blue cheeks flushing a rather deep shade of violet.

At the nursery table, Modi is surrounded by a gaggle of other tiny toddlers and children, cooing and laughing with the rest of them under the careful eye of a nurse. Even from here, Loki can make out the burble that is Modi's giggle.

He looks out over the bustling crowd again, tracing the rim of his water glass with an idle finger and listening to the high, sweet tones it produces absentmindedly. The lights dance softly across his vision, and he takes a slow, deep breath, trying to imprint every single moment, every single detail of tonight, in his mind. He picks up the glass, taking a swallow of the cool, clear water.

He is interrupted by a small tug at his cloak. He looks down with an arched brow, finding a small Asgardian toddler, all chubby cheeks and blue eyes and fair blonde hair, pulling at his knee.

"Pwince T'or said I had to ask you to dance wiv me," the little boy says, holding up his tiny hands, and Loki cannot help but wonder if this is what Modi will look like in a few years. He looks out across the room, catches Thor smiling at him, holding out a broad hand.

"Did the prince Thor really say such a thing?" Loki asks, turning his gaze back to the boy, with wide eyes. The little boy nods vigorously, causing a slew of blonde curls to spill over his eyes. Loki smiles as he gently pushes them back, tucking them behind the boy's ears.

"Well, I suppose if he said so, I'll have to do it," Loki says, setting the glass down on the table. The condensation makes another ring in the white silk tablecloth, and he smiles fondly as he gently traces it with his index finger, watches the water stain fade into cool nothingness.

He leans down, scoops the boy up into his arms, and walks out to join Thor.


	14. Gymnophoria

Written to Germany to Germany - Ratatat, crosspost from AO3.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone :)

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><p><em><strong>Gymnophoria: <strong>The distinct feeling that someone, somewhere, is mentally undressing you. _

Loki waltzes slowly round the floor, bend over so that the little Asgardian boy could lead with clumsy, tottering steps that have him crashing into the backs of other dancer's legs and stepping more often than not on Loki's toes. Loki smiles gently at the little boy, and that only encourages him to tighten his grip on Loki's index and middle fingers on both hands.

As the orchestra calls for a break, the little boy smiles sweetly up at Loki, does a clumsy bow that almost has him falling flat on the floor before running off to his mother, who is smiling and holding out her arms to him from the side.

Loki stands up, stretching to get rid of the knots in his back that came from bending nearly double. As he surveys the emptying dance floor, he finds that Thor is nowhere to be seen. Frigga and Farbauti are over with the children, playing monsters and maidens, Modi ensconced carefully in the curve of Farbauti's arm and watching the other children play with bright blue eyes. Odin had fallen asleep a few dances ago, his beard dipping into his cup of wine, and Laufey had followed suit, except that he had fallen asleep in the half-eaten sheet cake he had been in the process of demolishing, and his brow currently rested in a pile of white buttercream frosting.

Helblindi and Darcy had disappeared, and Loki wondered with a smirk which of the bedrooms they had decided to pursue shenanigans in (before the ceremony, as a way of dispelling pre-wedding jitters, he'd gone through all of the bedrooms in the castle and had rigged them in various ways - some with snakes and copious amounts of silly string, others with models of ghosts and other supernatural monsters). Byleistr was over in the dark shadows behind a pillar, making out (but, in all fairness, it was more like gnawing) with the Thor clone that he had marked as his 'guest.'

Loki searches around the vast room, wondering where Thor was.

He finally catches sight of his husband, standing by the remnants of the wedding cake, looking at him with heavy lidded eyes over a goblet of wine. He watches Thor's gaze as it rakes over him, clearly heated even from that distance, stripping away layers of silk and satin and lace until Loki feels cool and exposed underneath his stare.

Thor's eyes slowly drag themselves up the curves of Loki's waist, skimming over the silver cloak that drapes like water across his slim shoulders, to meet Loki's gaze. Thor tilts his head subtly to the side, and Loki grins as he hurries over to comply.

* * *

><p>"Only for a little bit," he gasps as Thor presses his mouth hot and insistent to Loki's. "We cannot just simply leave our guests like this."<p>

Thor grins, his beard tickling at the sensitive point behind Loki's ear. "An unfortunate custom that we must observe," he whispers, tugging Loki to a bedroom door.

"Like that asinine Midgardian thing you insisted we do?" Loki breathes as Thor half-drags, half-carries him across the dark corridor. "Not seeing each other for weeks before this? I was half-mad looking for you."

"You are half-mad all the time, sweet brother," Thor murmurs with a laugh. "I love you all the more for it."

Loki smiles, and Thor reaches out for the doorknob, flinging open the bedroom door, ready to lay Loki out on the bed inside and have his way with him. Much to Thor's surprise, the door opens onto another door; when he flings this one open too, there is yet another door behind it.

"What manner of sorcery is this?" Thor mutters under his breath, astounded as the doors keep opening onto more doors in front of him, getting smaller and smaller and smaller until they are not even doors at all, but mere coverings for mouseholes.

Behind him, Loki stifles a giggle into the sleeve of his cloak before taking Thor's hand and dragging him off to another room.


	15. Cafuné

Written to: Cutdown - Matt and Kim, crosspost from AO3.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Cafuné: <strong>running your fingers through your lover's hair._

"A honeymoon?" Loki asks as he curls up and pillows his head on Thor's chest, Thor's fingers tangling lazily through his hair. "Where would you wish to go?"

Thor stares up at the ceiling, smiling helplessly as the sounds of the party grow and swell before ebbing back to quiet murmurs beneath them. He hugs Loki close to him, feeling his pulse against his own, beating in tandem.

"Well, perhaps not quite yet," Thor says. "Modi is still very young, but a babe. I would not wish to burden anyone with his demands."

Loki smiles against Thor's skin, watches Thor's chest rise and fall with his deep breaths. "They all adore Modi. Even my father. It would not be much of a burden, and you know that. We would probably come back from the excursion to find him spoilt beyond belief, with both realms twined around his littlest finger and ready to go to war for his littlest cry."

Thor laughs, a deep rumble against Loki's cheek as he strokes Loki's hair.

"We have millennia to decide," Thor murmurs as he rolls over again, pinning Loki beneath him and admiring his debauched appearance. "It does not have to be now."

He lowers himself to give Loki a kiss, and as his beard tickles Loki's chin, Loki thinks that the rest of their eternities is a honeymoon in itself.


	16. Skinship

Written to: Closer to Love - Mat Kearney, crosspost from AO3.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Skinship: <strong>Bonding through the intimacy of touch, especially of the closeness between a parent and child. Can also connote 'sharing a bath naked,' but more often has the platonic context._

Loki walks into the baths one evening to find Thor and Modi already ensconced in a tub, warm, bubbly water slopping over the sides as Thor shifts Modi from one arm to the other to reach for a damp washcloth.

Loki gingerly perches himself on the edge of the tub, watching as Thor gently pats Modi's cheeks with the washcloth and runs careful fingers through Modi's damp curls, which have darkened to a bronze colour under the warm water. Modi squeals with delight when he tilts his head back and sees Loki sitting at the edge of the tub, reaching out tiny, soapy slick fingers to him. Loki smiles and obliges him, holding out his hand and allowing Modi to wrap his fingers around his thumb.

Thor looks up. "You are far too dressed," he informs Loki, and before Loki knows it, Thor is kicking a small swell of water over the edge of the tub, soaking Loki's trousers. Loki jumps up, frowns at the water dripping down his legs. Thor just smiles good-naturedly at him, his grin widening as Loki rolls his eyes, peels his sopping trousers off his legs before wriggling out of his shirt and tossing the clothes in a disgraceful heap on the floor.

Thor shifts his legs to one side as Loki clambers into the tub, causing more water to slosh out over the tiles and disrupting the thin film of bubbles on the water's surface. Loki settles himself into the tub, reveling in the warm water against his skin that reaches up to the hollow of his throat. Modi splashes at the water with his hands as Thor beckons Loki to move closer so that he can wash his back for him.

They spend hours in the tub, their skin turning wrinkled and pruny, and Modi gasps in delight as Loki puffs his cheeks out and blows across the surface of the water, using his seidr to blow fresh, fat bubbles that pop against Modi's cheeks and eyelashes and his questioning fingers.

Thor wraps an arm around Loki's shoulders, and Loki rests his head in the hollow of Thor's neck with a smile while Modi squeals and laughs and splashes between them.


	17. Basorexia

Written to Smile - Uncle Kracker, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Basorexia: <strong>The overwhelming desire to kiss._

Thor watches Loki work in the gardens, weeding and pruning and watering with one hand while the other twirled around in the air, teaching the rose vines to twine around the stakes he'd stuck in the dirt, teaching them how to grow. Modi lay on a blanket beside him, tiny hands reaching up into the air to try to catch an iridescent blue dragonfly that hovers just above his reach.

He's supposed to be training with Sif right now; she had wanted to show him some new move with her battle-axe, and had cheerfully told Thor that the next time he was late to practice she would smack him over the head with his own hammer. Thor sincerely doubted this; he was the only one who could lift Mjolnir, but Sif was not a force to be countered with when she was angry.

He smiles as he leans against one of Idunn's apple trees and watches Loki wipe at his forehead with the back of one hand, leaving a streak of dirt across his fair skin that Thor can see even from here. The dragonfly lands on Modi's nose, and Thor hides a laugh into his hand as his son goes cross-eyed trying to look at the insect, his little hands waving about confusedly, unsure of what to do.

Loki looks over at Modi's squeals of delight, the corners of his mouth twitching up when he sees what all the fuss is about. Then his eyes travel up, up, up, to where Thor is standing in the shade of an apple tree, and Thor cannot help but grin back as Loki's entire face lights up.

He is about to go to them when he feels a firm hand gripping his wrist. He turns.

"You're late again, Thor," Sif says, but even though her tone is serious, there is a spark of laughter dancing in her eyes as she looks past him at Loki and Modi. "Had this been a real battle, no one would have waited for you for the merriment to start."

Thor smiles at her. "I am sorry, Lady Sif, truly," he says, but he and she both know that this won't be the last time. "I will be there in a moment, there is just something I have to do first."

He leaves her standing under the tree, a skip in his step as he walks over to the two of them. He scoops Modi up into one arm, the dragonfly fluttering away with a flash of brilliant blue, wraps the other arm around Loki. Modi giggles and gurgles against his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to Loki's laughing mouth, and Sif, from the shade of the apple tree, hides a smile into the curve of her hand.


	18. Tsundoku

Written to: Spectrum [Extended Mix] - Zedd ft. Matthew Koma, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Tsundoku: <strong>Buying books and not reading them; letting books pile up unread on shelves or floors or nightstands._

"We have far too many books. You have far too many books," Thor tells Loki one evening after he opens the armoire to store his armour and is promptly buried under an avalanche of paper and letters. He picks himself out from underneath the pile, trying not to damage anything, lest he provoke Loki's wrath, and places his hands on his hips as he surveys the mound of books lying at his feet.

"Have you even read any of these?" Thor wants to know, picking up a title at random and holding it upside down for a few moments, wondering what language it was in before finally realising his mistake and turning it right side up. "This is a Midgardian tome," he says after squinting at the title for a few moments. "Fifty Shades of Grey? I was not aware there was such a range for such an uninteresting colour."

At that, Loki scrambles from his place on the bed to snatch the book out of Thor's hands. Thor looks at him in confusion, and Loki huffs in annoyance, a flush of embarrassment crawling across his cheeks as he hides the book behind his back.

"I'm going to read all of them," he mutters in irritation, and Thor looks on in bemusement as Loki flicks his wrist, sends the books flying back into the armoire to stack themselves neatly once again, leaving plenty of room for Thor's armour. Once the job is done, Loki turns to Thor, not meeting his eye. "I just haven't gotten around to them yet."

Thor arches an eyebrow at Loki's clear discomfort, and decides to leave his questions for another day.

* * *

><p>Thor did eventually find Loki's copy of Fifty Shades of Grey, flipped randomly to the middle, and read for about three minutes before slamming the book closed and going off to find Loki.<p> 


	19. Lethologica

Written to: Gonna Take You There - The Princess and the Frog OST (Disney), crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Lethologica: <strong>When you think of something, but the word for it escapes you._

Thor doesn't know what to call the emotion that rises up in him when Modi reaches out to him with tiny hands and curls his fingers in the front of his robes. It makes his heart swell and throb with excitement, a sort of quiet pride as Modi turns his head to the side and opens sleepy blue eyes to look at him for a moment before his entire face breaks out into a smile.

He doesn't know what to call it when he feels his heart skip a beat as he watches Loki roll over in his sleep and rub his cheek against Thor's shoulder. He doesn't know what happens, why he holds his breath as Loki's eyelashes flutter before his eyes open, foggy and heavy with sleep. He doesn't know why he smiles whenever Loki stares at him blankly for a few moments before sighing and stretching, his mouth opening in a yawn as he rubs the dreams from his eyes and kicking the sheets away from where they're tangled around his legs.

He knows that he feels undeniably nervous whenever he picks up Modi, a fear of hurting this soft little being in his arms even as Modi giggles up at him. He knows that he feels perfectly at peace when he is curled around and over Loki in bed, breathing in Loki's soft scent, something like new books and lavender and a spice that is absolutely Loki.

He tells Loki all of this one day as Loki is still half-asleep, the mid-morning sunshine painting his cheek with gold.

"Wha's that?" Loki asks, his words slurred as he scrubs over his eyes with the palm of his hand, smacking his lips, and Thor has an irresistible urge to draw him into his arms. He does, and against the curve of his shoulder, Loki mumbles again, "Wha d'you want, leggo, I can't breathe."

After loosening his hold a bit so that Loki has ample room to breathe, Thor tells him again, tells him about the way his heart flutters, how he stops breathing sometimes, how he cannot describe it for the life of him.

Loki pulls back from him, his hands cool against Thor's chest. He rolls his eyes at Thor, snorts. "I believe the word you're looking for is love," Loki informs him, as if the answer were completely obvious, before rolling back over and snuggling down into the rumpled bedsheets again.

Thor slots his head into the hollow in between Loki's shoulder blades, listens to his soft, deep breaths, and wonders how Loki is able to label such complex things with such simple words.

When he asks Loki a bit later, when his brother is fully awake, Loki just rolls his eyes again and informs Thor that it wouldn't hurt to read a book or two every century or so before chucking The Notebook at him.

Thor was an inconsolable wreck for the rest of the week.


	20. Witzelsucht

Written to The Girl - City and Colour, crosspost from AO3.

Am I sorry I wrote this chapter? Absolutely not. Do I realise how terrible it is? Absolutely.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Witzelsucht: <strong>a feeble attempt at humour; excessive facetiousness; a condition where the patient compulsively tells puns._

In the past few weeks, while he was down on Midgard battling a new upcropping of Chitauri, Thor had become positively infatuated with Midgardian fast food restaurants. The Chitauri had later apologised and told the Avengers that it had been a navigational error, they had meant to go to the second universe to the left, not to the right; the mistake was quickly cleared up and the Chitauri went on their way.

"And, love, they deliver the food to you so quickly it's almost like they magic it into being!" Thor tells Loki, his head pillowed on Loki's thigh as he gestures in the air. Loki does not appear impressed, and only sniffs a bit as he tries to put his attention back on Anna Karenina.

"We must go sometime," Thor says, rolling over and nudging the book out of Loki's hands. It falls to the covers with a heavy thunk worthy of Russian literature. "I will take you and show you."

Loki doesn't say anything, but he is rather glad for Thor's interruption; reading about Anna's two-timing nature with Vronsky and the other fellow was getting to be rather tedious.

* * *

><p>The day before they were supposed to go to Midgard, Loki was reading Rapunzel to Modi, who watched him with bright eyes from where he lay on the floor. Jory was curled up in a little coil next to Modi, flicking his little tongue out every now and then as Loki read in soft, melodic tones. The snake didn't really understand the concept of hair, everybody had hair except him, but he supposed that it was a good thing he didn't have hair, otherwise he might end up like that foolish girl in the story Mama was reading. Nor was he a girl, for that matter.<p>

Loki flicked his wrist lazily, and a small picture of the tower popped up in front of Modi and Jory, streams of golden hair spilling out the windows. Modi gasped and waved chubby hands up to touch the picture, and Loki smiled at his children before turning back to the book.

While Loki wasn't looking, Modi slapped at the air, his little brow furrowed, and before Loki knew it, a small stream of seidr came up to smack him in the mouth. He looked over at the two of them, and Jory pointed an accusing tail at Modi, who just babbled innocently at him. Loki decided to ignore it.

* * *

><p>"Taco Bell."<p>

"Yes!" Thor exclaims in delight as he takes Loki by the wrist and leads him toward the door. "Lord Taco is indeed a fantastic man." Modi swings happily from his carrier and babbles up at the two of them.

Loki sits down at a white table, grimacing at the sticky spots of spilt soda all over the table and trying not to touch anything while Thor orders. He lifts Modi out of his carrier and ensconces him in a wooden seat close by to the table, wiping the surface in front of him. Thor sits down in front of him in a few moments, beaming broadly.

Loki feels an itching around the corners of his mouth, an itching on the very tip of his tongue, but ignores it as one of the employees brings out a tray of food. Thor had been right; the service was indeed rather quick.

Modi, prone to grabbing anything and everything that was set in front of him, instantly reaches out to stick his fingers into a small pool of orange cheese. Loki quickly grasps his wrist, tutting. "That is nacho cheese." He stops immediately after saying that, holding his fingers to his mouth, horrified.

"That's right, Loki, it is nacho cheese!" Thor says in delight, smiling over at the two of them. "How did you know that? Has Lord Taco invited you for dinner as well during your excursions on Midgard?"

"I don't want to taco bout it," Loki mutters, flushing scarlet. He reaches out, stuffs something into his mouth to keep himself from talking, he was embarrassing himself, but Thor was too much of a buffoon to appreciate Loki's normal witty humour.

After he finishes and leans back, wiping his mouth with the cheap paper napkins that were provided, Loki tells himself determinedly that he will not talk any more, but his tongue is itching more than ever. The same tired looking employee comes out with a second platter of food, this one even more crowded than the last, and sets it down in front of them.

"That Juan is yours?" Loki asks, arching an eyebrow before clapping his hands over his mouth. Thor pauses in his ferocious chewing to stare at Loki in confusion.

"No, fairest..." he says after a moment, spitting taco shell out all over the table. "I do not keep slaves, you know that. And his name is Patrick, it looks like."

To the side of the table, Modi giggles and sticks his fingers into a puddle of cheese.


	21. Obdormition

Written to: Lovers in Japan - Coldplay, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Obdormition: <strong>when your limbs fall asleep; numbness caused by pressure on a nerve_

Thor wakes up in the middle of the night to find his right arm missing. When he looks over, it is still there, firmly attached to his body, but it might as well be someone else's for all it feels. Certainly it cannot help that Loki is coiled about it like a snake, his thighs firmly wrapped around Thor's wrist, making soft, repetitive motions and biting into the covers, and Thor curses his useless arm for not being able to feel.

He watches Loki roll his hips into the mattress, into Thor's hand, watches the fluid lines of his back as he arches down and presses a sob into the curve of his hand. Loki's face is turned away from him, but Thor can just catch the twitches at the corners of his mouth as he tries to stifle a whimper and fails.

Thor keeps himself very still, watching, and when Loki's entire body stiffens next to him before breaking out into loose-limbed trembles, Thor finds that he can feel the soft warmth trickling over his fingers and seeping into the sheets, and he grins, turning his face away so that Loki cannot see.


	22. Kilig

Written to: Here We Are - Patrick Park, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><strong><em>Kilig: <em>**_The rush or the inexplicable joy one feels after seeing or experiencing something romantic._

Darcy wakes up to a banging on her door. She groans, flops over and yells at the person outside that she doesn't want to subscribe to any newspapers, and to go away. When the knocking starts up again, she wants to scream in frustration. With a glance at her alarm clock (well, it was half past ten, it was probably as good a time to get up as any), she grumbles as she sticks her feet into fluffy bunny slippers and shuffles across the apartment to answer the door.

She cracks open the door, draws back the chain. Much to her vast surprise, Helblindi is standing outside her door. Clearly he hadn't had to apply glamour before, but he actually looks fairly normal, with the exception of his blue-black hair and his deep violet lips.

When she opens the door, he looks up from where he is wearing a hole into the shoddy grey carpet with the toe of one of his black Converse. As his eyes meet hers, Darcy is suddenly conscious of how tall he is, how messy her hair probably is, all tangled and matted with sleep.

"Forgive me, Lady Darcy," he says shyly, and Darcy wonders what he has to be shy about. "I did not mean to wake you."

He holds out a brilliant, pale blue bunch of flowers, like none Darcy has ever seen before on Earth. She accepts them gratefully, burying her nose in them and letting the scent of ice and mint and cold fill her nose.

Darcy steps back, invites him in, and he folds his long, long legs underneath her round dining table.

She makes promises that she just needs a few minutes to get ready for whatever he has planned, before running off to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her, and hugging a pillow to her chest as she tries to hold in her excitement.

* * *

><p>After an eventful day at the zoo, holding hands and eating ice cream, Darcy sighs and stretches out on her bed, grinning stupidly up at the ceiling. Helblindi had told her that, unfortunately, he did have some royal duties to attend to (namely, seeing that Byleistr was getting along with Malekith while the Dark Elf stayed in Jotunheimr on some diplomatic mission), but that he would be back soon.<p>

Darcy picks up her mobile and dials Loki, who picks up after a few rings. The two chat through shoddy connections and the distances of realms, until Loki excuses himself to go look after Modi.

She flops onto her back, smiling fit to burst, and turns her head to look at the vase of ice blue flowers on her nightstand.


	23. Brumous

Written to Fresh Snow - Moonlit Sailor, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Brumous: <strong>__of grey skies and winter days; filled with heavy clouds or fog; relating to winter or cold, sunless weather._

Loki wakes one morning to find the clouds grey and thick outside the balcony windows, their underbellies pregnant with rain and snow and hail. As he rolls out of bed, he flinches away at the chilly stones beneath his feet. Thor, for once, is lying on his side in bed, still sleeping soundly, as Loki pads over to the windows and places his palms lightly against the glass, watching it fog up against his skin.

His glamour flickers, streaks of blue spilling across his skin like ink into water, and he watches with detached curiosity as his reflection's skin etches crimson, as his lips colour violet, until he looks the proper frost prince once more.

Hearing Modi's soft babbling from the other room and not wishing to wake Thor, Loki quickly hurries over to the nursery to attend to Modi's needs.

When he gets there, much to his surprise, he looks into the cradle to find a frost child. Modi gurgles up at him happily, reaching out soft blue hands to him, and Loki strokes his fingers through blue-black ringlets of downy hair as he presses a kiss to Modi's chubby cheek. His skin is slightly warmer than Loki's, and Loki arranges the blankets more tightly around his son as he carries Modi over to the nursery windows.

Modi peers outside with wide, maroon eyes, pats his fingers against the cold glass, and starts in surprise as a spattering of frost streaks out in brilliant bursts from where he touches the window. Loki grins and places his hand on the window next to Modi's, and Modi gasps in awe, drooling all over Loki's chest as Loki traces icy swirling patterns over the window.

"He is like you," a voice says from the doorway. Loki turns a bit, glancing over his shoulder to see Frigga leaning against the nursery door. Her eyes are soft and gentle as she watches Modi slap the window, bursts of frost radiating outwards from his palms. "Magic before he could even sit up by himself."

Frigga walks over, her footfalls light on the nursery carpet, and Modi looks over from the window. When he sees her, his face lights up in delight and he smiles toothlessly at her. She smiles back, pinches his cheek gently.

"Perhaps we should ask Farbauti to come," Frigga says absentmindedly, as Modi threads blue fingers through her hair and tugs. "She is much more skilled at these sorts of spells than I."

Thor watches the interaction from the grey shadows of the nursery doorway, watches his son spark magic across the window panes and clap his hands in delight. He makes a mental note to ask the blacksmiths to produce a training staff in addition to a miniature warhammer.


	24. Gigil

Written to: Moth's Wings - Passion Pit, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>GigilGheegle:** __The urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute._

Tony looks at the squirming bundle in his lap, prods it with a tentative finger before quickly jerking his hand away just in case the...thing were to explode or spontaneously burst into flames. Knowing Loki, he wouldn't have been surprised if either of those things were to happen.

Modi burbles up at him, blowing a spit bubble, and Tony frowns down at him. Thor had deposited Modi with the other Avengers before hurriedly dragging Loki off to show him the bedroom that Tony had built for him in the tower, complete with an industrial strength bed, and Tony really would rather prefer not to think about those sorts of activities at the present moment.

Steve, sitting beside him, makes little nonsense noises to the thing, who coos curiously back at him as he waggles his fingers at it.

"Must you encourage it?" Tony asks, rolling his eyes at the captain, who was sticking out his tongue at Modi. "It's already far too noisy for this time of the morning as it is," he mutters as Modi babbles and squeals in laughter.

When Steve just keeps making faces at it, Tony rolls his eyes dramatically and deposits Modi in Steve's lap. Steve gasps in delight and pinches Modi's chubby cheeks, squeezing him close to his chest, while Tony just stares.

"Who's a cute little baby? Who's a cute little baby? You, that's who!" Steve exclaims, tickling Modi whose laughs were piercing through Tony's head.

Tony waves his hand in front of Steve's face, but Steve is completely oblivious to anything besides the squirming bundle in his arms.

"Cap. Malekith just landed in Times Square."

No response, save for Steve giving Modi Eskimo kisses.

"Captain Rogers. There's been a Nazi uprising in Washington, D.C."

No response.

"Steve. Loki just stole the Declaration of Independence."

Tony thought he detected a faint twitch of Steve's eye, but he couldn't be sure, as Steve was utterly and completely fascinated by Modi curling his tiny fingers around Steve's thumb.

Tony tosses his hands up in the air in exasperation and bustles off to drink a cup of coffee or ten.


	25. Áoyè

Written to: El Pico - Ratatat, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><strong><em>Áoyè: <em>**_To burn the midnight oil; to pull an all nighter._

Bruce honestly didn't see why he had to be the one to watch Modi. Technically, Thor had entrusted the baby with Tony, but Tony had run off somewhere, probably to complain to Pepper about how he wasn't just a glorified babysitter. Bruce snorts to himself as he tinkers with his microscope, examines the bacteria trapped underneath the slide. Pepper probably wanted kids for herself, and surely the presence of Modi couldn't have helped much.

He looks over at the tiny snoozing baby in the carseat he had strapped him into hours earlier, with a firm look and a stern warning to "be good." Modi had babbled at him in that nonsense language of his, and Bruce had had to stifle a little grin.

He rubs his aching eyes, takes a sip from a mug of lukewarm black coffee, grimaces at the bitter taste before pushing his chair across the sterile laboratory tiles to fiddle with little screws on a teleportation device he was working on.

He must have been sleepier than he thought, because he kept nodding off, and his fingers seemed far too clumsy to be his own; the screws slipped past the clutch of his thumb and forefinger to drop on the ground with tiny little pings. When he bends down to scoop them up off the floor, he drops the screwdriver onto the tiles, and that makes a loud clatter that has Modi waking up with a start and whimpering in his seat.

"Oh, God," Bruce mutters under his breath, the screwdriver clutched firmly in one hand while the other went up to scrub at his eyes and pinch at the bridge of his nose to stave off an impending migraine. "Don't start crying, please," he says as he walks back over to Modi, who is waving his little hands about in confusion at the whiteness, at the sparse nature of the place.

When Bruce comes into his field of vision, Modi's whimpers start to fade, and he grins toothlessly up at him. Bruce smiles tiredly back at him, as he falls back into his chair.

"Listen here, little man," he says, gesturing to him; Modi seems far more entranced by the metallic device in his hand than him. "It's rather late, you should go back to sleep, okay? If you're going to be big and strong like your...dad, I guess, you need to get lots of rest."

When Modi babbles back at him, Bruce rolls his eyes, as if Modi had said something particularly sarcastic. "I know, you think you're a big boy now, you should get to stay up late with me. Fine by me, if you're tired in the morning, you can tell your mum that I advised you otherwise, alright?"

Bruce follows Modi's gaze to the screwdriver in his hands. "This is a screwdriver," he explains, as if Modi had asked. "See, look, the top goes into these little notches in the screws, like such."

Modi pays attention raptly, and, much to Bruce's surprise, furrows his tiny brows, sticks his tongue out, and the screwdriver jerks itself out of Bruce's hand and fits itself into the notches on the screw before fluttering down to the laboratory bench. Bruce rubs his eyes in disbelief, wondering if he was starting to hallucinate, but when he opens his eyes again, there it is, the screwdriver still fit perfectly into the screws. Modi is looking at him with big blue eyes, questioning.

"That's exactly right, kiddo," Bruce says in disbelief as the screwdriver begins to roll over the table. "That's how you attach things to other things."

When Thor comes charging into the laboratory a few hours later, his cape swirling about him and distress about a misplaced child written in his face, he finds Bruce and Modi sleeping on the laboratory table. Modi is carefully wrapped up in his blanket on the table, one of his little hands clutching tightly to a screwdriver.


	26. Abyssopelagic

Written to: Some Nights - Fun., crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Abyssopelagic: <strong>Like or pertaining to the depths of the sea._

Thor doesn't know where Loki goes when he stares out the windows of their bedchambers, his head resting in the curve of his palm. He doesn't know what it is that Loki sees out there, why he drums his fingers restlessly against the window sill like he is playing an invisible piano with the music all mute so it is a song only he can hear.

He's asked Loki what he's thinking about, many times, but Loki only gives him an annoyed glance out of the corner of his eye and goes back to looking out the window.

In all reality, Loki isn't thinking about much when he stares out the window and absentmindedly traces drawings onto the bottom of the glass. His thoughts usually revolve around mundane things, like what he's going to have for dinner, what type of cake he would like to eat later, what story to read to Modi and Jörmungandr before bed.

But Thor doesn't know that, and so he asks Loki again and again if there is anything he can do or if there is anything he has done wrong. Sometimes Loki just gives him a short nod, just to see the creases appear between Thor's eyebrows as he racks his brains trying to think of what misdeeds he had committed. It amuses Loki to no end as Thor tries to prove his worth to him, through multitudes of flowers and kisses and sweets.

Thor is always greatly relieved those nights when Loki turns to him in their bed, a little smile dimpling the corners of his mouth, his eyes deep green in the flickering candlelight, and tells him not to worry anymore.


	27. Amaranthine

Written to: Painters - Joe Hisaishi, Hana-bi OST, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Amaranthine: <strong>Undying, immortal, eternally beautiful; a deep purple-red._

It is the red in the corners of Loki's eyes that tells Thor when Loki is not feeling very well. A scarlet hue bleeds into the white, and many times Loki himself is unaware of it, all the while rubbing at his nose and trying to itch the tickle in his throat as he bats Thor and promises of hot chicken soup away, trying to convince himself that he is fine. Princes aren't supposed to get sick, and certainly not gods, and Loki is both.

It is when his skin begins to turn cooler, the colour of a twilight sky snaking up underneath his cuticles and smudging at the corners of his mouth with violet, that he finally admits to himself that perhaps he is a little bit ill. It is when his skin is fully navy and his purple lips are chapped and flaking that Loki allows Thor to pamper him with foot massages and steaming mugs of tea wrapped up in cloth so that he doesn't burn his frosted hands.

Loki breathes heavily through his mouth, whistling like a tiny kettle from somewhere deep in his chest as he dozes lightly in the armchair by the fire, wrapped up in furs and warm blankets. Thor smiles at him fondly, tucking the quilts a bit more tightly around his leaden limbs, before carrying their basket of laundry to the Bifrost.

When Heimdall raises a questioning eyebrow at him, Thor just shrugs and tells him that he wants it to be a surprise for Loki, a little bit of help since Loki has not been feeling very well. Heimdall just rolls his eyes and tells Thor that he is not to blame if Thor loses loose socks and other garments on the trip to Midgard. Thor assures him that he will not.

On Midgard, the basket of laundry balanced on his hip, Thor eyes the washing machine in the tower suspiciously. Pepper had often complained to anyone who would listen how the washing machine must have been possessed, it kept eating socks and not returning them. Thor pokes it tentatively with Mjolnir's handle, and when the machine does nothing, decides it is most certainly not possessed and cheerfully begins to load the garments into the machine.

He watches in awe as the machine begins to spin the clothes around, watches in fascination as water swirls in amongst the clothes, watches with horror as suds begin to spill out of the mouth of the machine. He jumps back as the washer foams at the mouth like a rabid animal, and quickly prays to the Norns that the Midgardian appliance would not eat his soul.

Clint comes in with a load of clothes, his and the Lady Natasha's, looks at Thor cowering in the corner of the laundry room, hiding from the wrath of the washing machine. He sighs, rolls his eyes, and instructs Thor on how to use the device, how much soap was appropriate to add. Thor listens to him intently, all the while watching the washer out of the corner of his eye just in case the metallic beast were to rise up in rebellion.

The next load Thor does, he does it perfectly, adding the right amount of soap and not overloading the washer, but, unbeknownst to him, one of Modi's red booties slips in, hidden in the folds of one of Loki's white night shirts.

When Thor sheepishly returns to Asgard, a basket of pink shirts in his arms, it is the red streaks high in Loki's cheeks that tells Thor that Loki is not particularly amused, even as he strips himself of his sweaty nightclothes and buttons up a fresh, pink shirt around himself.


	28. Fuubutsushi

Written to: Hide and Seek (Imogen Heap) - Time for Three, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fuubutsushi: <strong>The things - feelings, scents, images - that evoke memories or anticipation of a particular season._

Though he is a frost prince and is by nature drawn to the cold, Loki is always glad when the weather begins to turn again and the sun begins to rise earlier to melt the frosty dew on the window panes. The air is crisp and cool as he slides open the window shutters, quietly, so as not to wake Thor, who sleeps far more often in the winter like a bear hibernating and waiting for the spring. Loki leans against the windowsill, cradles his chin in his palms, and watches over the horizon as the sun begins to crest over the distant hills of Asgard, staining the skies with pinks and golds and oranges.

When Thor finally rises, and Loki has already been up for hours, they traipse down to the dining hall together to break their fast, Modi cradled in the curve of Loki's arm. With Modi taken care of, clinging to a bottle of warmed milk, Loki sits down at table and presses a serrated spoon into a grapefruit half.

He lets the tart, sweet flavour burst against his tongue, smiling in delight as notes of citrus wind their way around his mouth and down his throat, and it just tastes like spring and warmth and life.

He looks at Thor sitting across from him, eyes still bleary and tired, and remembers springs past, lying beneath cherry trees who spread pink and white blossoms all through the breeze and threaded their way into Thor's cloak and hair; when it would be warm enough for Loki to read outside again, Thor's head cradled in his lap as he spoke aloud tales of princesses and beauty; Thor's fingers, usually so clumsy and rough, making the most intricate of links on daisy chains and placing coronets of flowers on Loki's head, proclaiming him queen of Asgard and all its people.

He cannot stop the smile that worms its way across his face as he looks at Thor over his grapefruit, and Thor smiles tiredly back, still waking up as Loki urges spring's arrival.


	29. Vorfreude

Written to: Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Vorfreude: <strong>The joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures._

"You really must be more quiet," Thor tells Loki one night as Loki is still recovering, reveling in the cool silk sheets beneath his heated, bare skin. Loki just curls himself around a pillow, trying not to rub himself too vigorously against the sheets as his flesh is still rather sensitive. "Or we must pursue our romantic encounters perhaps in another realm or in the forests or some other such. Some place we cannot be heard."

Loki mumbles something into his pillow, reaches blindly around him and takes one of Thor's hands to put it on his back, arching underneath it like a particularly contented cat. Thor unconsciously begins to rub soothing circles into Loki's skin.

"But it pleases me to hear you cry out in ecstasy," Thor muses, his hand slipping in between Loki's shoulder blades. "I love the sounds you make, all choked off like you don't want anyone to hear. I like it when you whimper into the palm of your hand as I stroke you and tease you and nip at you to leave bruises blossoming underneath your flesh."

Loki groans into the sheets, feeling ribbons of arousal worming their reluctant way down the curve of his spine, and Thor's palm suddenly feels far too warm. He begins to squirm.

"Perhaps next time we will use fingers," Thor continues, and how he can sound so thoughtful while talking about such sordid activities is beyond Loki's comprehension. "If you promise not to bite me again when I press my thumb into your mouth. I do need thumbs, you know, to hold Mjolnir."

Loki grins as he rolls over, his cock already half hard against his thigh, and drags Thor down for a kiss. "It would truly be a shame if you could not hold her," he murmurs against Thor's mouth, and he can feel Thor's smile against his lips.

"Most likely," Thor says, his gaze predatory, and Loki shudders as the ribbons of lust curling in the pit of his stomach burn hotter underneath his skin. "I have seen you, once, with her. Loving her inside you."

Loki's eyes widen as Thor presses him down into the sheets again. "I unfortunately do not sleep quite so soundly as that, dearest," Thor says with a slight laugh in his voice. "Next time, I would do that to you what you have done."

Loki grins helplessly into the pillows as Thor rolls him back over, presses love bites into the hollow of his shoulder blades, and begins to pound into him once more.


	30. Sobremesa

Written to: Mountain Sound - Of Monsters and Men, crosspost from AO3, referencing one of my other stories: Haze, in which dragon's heart and mermaid hair has been replaced by commonplace spaghetti and meatballs, and Loki cannot tell the difference.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sobremesa: <strong>the time spent around the table after lunch or dinner, talking to the people you shared the meal with; time to digest and savor both food and friendship._

"You Midgardians have gotten more sophisticated," Loki tells Steve nonchalantly after Jarvis clears the dishes away from the dinner table. The Avengers (well, really, it was mostly Steve) had asked Loki to come have a meal with them, as a toast to their tentative alliance (and really, Steve just wanted to see Modi again, and was currently tickling him under the chin as he sat in his high chair and banged his fists on his little plastic tray).

"What do you mean by that?" Steve asks, making faces at Modi, who looks at him curiously for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and imitating the face back at him. Steve is absolutely fascinated by Modi making tiny little duck faces at him, and Loki vaguely wonders if Steve is really just that entranced by Modi, or if Modi is somehow harnessing his undeveloped seidr to take control of Steve's mind. Loki isn't sure which one he'd prefer.

"You dine on dragon's heart and mermaid's hair as well," Loki says. Steve looks across at him, opens his mouth to tell him otherwise, before catching Thor making frantic gestures at him from across the table, complete with drawing his hand across his throat and making a motion to zip his mouth shut and toss the key away.

"I love the spice you added to it," Loki continues. "Something to add a hint of freshness. Normally I do not eat so carnally, but I must admit, dragon's heart is quite a lovely delicacy in Asgard. I am glad that you have decided to study up on Asgardian culture. Perhaps you Midgardians are not as ignorant as you seem."

Steve just stares at Thor, who has his hands clasped together and is silently begging Steve not to say anything.

Steve shrugs. "A bit of parsley, some basil. It adds a depth of flavour to the spa - dragon's heart."

"I quite agree," Loki says, examining his nails for dirt.

Clint rolls his eyes from his spot three seats down from Loki, mutters to Natasha under his breath about how stupid Loki is, not being able to recognise spaghetti and meatballs. Unfortunately, Loki has unnaturally sharp ears, and he glares down the table at Clint, whom Thor is staring in horror at.

Natasha catches them staring, smacks Clint on the arm, and cheerfully tells Loki that Clint had had a bit too much to drink and didn't know what he was saying. Loki seems to accept this, with a little huff and a roll of his eyes, and proceeds to completely forget about the incident once Pepper carries in a raspberry cheesecake.


	31. Agastopia

Written to: Anna Sun - Walk the Moon, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Agastopia: <strong>Admiration of someone's body._

"These are all your fault, you know," Loki says as he looks at himself critically in the tall looking glass standing beside their armoire and rubs at the silvered stretch marks that still litter the creamy skin of his inner thighs. Thor, in the middle of unbuckling his armour, cannot help but stare at Loki's naked body.

Loki catches him staring over his shoulder, and grins impishly as he spreads his thighs a little further, inviting Thor to look and accidentally drop his breastplate onto the floor with a loud clang.

"Well, technically," Thor says, his mouth suddenly dry, "they are Modi's fault, not mine. I was not the one inside you and stretching out your skin."

Loki arches an eyebrow at him. "No? I seem to recall it quite differently during my cycle. Alas, how am I to know the truth? Events during that time are very like to be all skewed with heat and lust."

Thor swallows roughly, his eyes sketching across the planes and slender curves of Loki's long body, tracing each and every stretch mark with a burning gaze that has heat coiling and tingling at the base of Loki's spine.

"Perhaps," Thor says roughly, his voice husky, his eyes dilated, "I might be able to remind you of what exactly transpired during that time. To help your memory, of course."

"It would be a sad thing to forget," Loki muses, and in the dim reflection of the mirror, Thor can see Loki's cock begin to stiffen against his thigh, can see a light flush creeping across Loki's chest, and longs for nothing more than to lay his mouth on soft, sweet skin and suck and bite and lick.

"Most definitely," he agrees. "It would truly be a shame if you were not to remember it."

Loki grins, the curve of his mouth gleaming in the mirror as Thor steps hurriedly out of his trousers and reaches out for him.


	32. Ustulation

Written to: Love in a Box - The Workday Release, crosspost from AO3.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ustulation: <strong>a burning lust._

"I look like a zebra, for all the stripes I have," Loki laughs as Thor rolls him onto the bed and spreads his thighs, mouthing at the silvery scars on the soft skin he finds between them. Loki curls his fingers through Thor's hair, tugs his head in a silent plea to press kisses higher, higher, higher.

Thor grins as he presses a tiny kiss to the very tip of Loki's erection, which twitches in interest and elicits a soft whimper.

"You are a very fierce zebra, then, love," Thor remarks as he drags himself up, pinning Loki's wrists above his head with one strong hand. "Your legs certainly are strong enough to pin me between them, to kick me out of bed and drag the blankets away from me if you are feeling particularly cold in your dreams."

Loki's giggle quickly dissolves into a muffled moan as Thor kisses him, his tongue dancing around Loki's teeth and stroking against Loki's. Thor's other hand quickly snakes between their bodies, wraps firmly around Loki's cock, and begins to stroke gently at the head, which weeps out clear, sticky fluid onto the pad of his finger. Loki groans into the kiss, and when Thor pulls away, he watches with dilated eyes as Thor presses his thumb into his mouth, rolls it around his tongue, tasting.

"Watch," Thor murmurs softly, as he dips back down between Loki's scarred thighs again and envelops Loki's cock in his mouth. Loki has to bite down harshly on his lower lip to stop his scream, and he tastes blood as Thor sucks him down all the way to the base and swallows. As Thor's throat flutters around the head of Loki's cock, Loki shudders and writhes and somehow manages to shakily maintain Thor's gaze even as Thor hums and shatters his vision in streaks of white.

* * *

><p>Later that night, as Thor is gently massaging Loki's aching hips and Loki is already dozing off, sated and exhausted, Thor takes note of the silvery, rapidly drying streaks of semen littering Loki's inner thighs.<p>

He admires them, traces them tentatively with the tip of a finger, and grins helplessly as Loki twitches and giggles breathlessly in his sleep, muttering something about being ticklish. He winces as he shifts to pop a kink in his back, feels the long, shallow scratches that Loki had inflicted on his back in his throes of pleasure reopen and sting.

Thor looks up at Loki, whose mouth is slightly open, pink lips swollen and parted to reveal just a hint of sharp white teeth, reaches a hand up to his neck to feel the bruises swelling from where Loki had bit down to muffle his cries.

Thor grins as Loki's eyes twitch underneath his closed eyelids, his long lashes casting shadows across his cheeks in the flickering candlelight, and privately thinks to himself that Loki is more like a tiger.


	33. Sapiosexual

Written to: Hello Seattle - Owl City, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Sapiosexual: <strong>One who is attracted to or aroused by intelligence in others. _

Over the millennia, Loki's tried time and again to educate Thor on the finer points of etiquette and culture. Was it really so much to ask for him to chew with his mouth closed every once in a while, or to pick up a book once every other century? Was that really such a big demand? Loki knew he was demanding, but he didn't think this was such a big deal to ask.

Thor, of course, would attempt to listen to Loki while he was trying to educate him, but then he would in a few hours' time go back to stabbing huge slabs of steak with a knife before popping it in his mouth. Loki would glare at him from across the table (and Thor would completely ignore him, having perfected that art about 50 years into their relationship) and go back to cutting his meat into perfectly bite-sized portions. Thor would argue that the blocks of steak he was consuming were also bite-sized, depending on how one looked at it, and Loki would just sigh in exasperation and rub at his temples.

So the evening that Thor comes into the bedchambers after putting Modi to bed and proceeds to recite a Shakespearean sonnet comes as nothing less than an extraordinary surprise. Loki has to go over and pinch him and make sure that he is indeed real.

Thor grins at him, and Loki thinks he detects a slight sparkle about his mouth, but quickly decides that must just be the flickering candlelight as Thor begins to speak:

"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
>But bears it out even to the edge of doom.<br>If this be error and upon me proved,  
>I never writ, nor no man ever loved."<p>

Loki swallows roughly, quickly helps Thor unbuckle his breastplate, and hurriedly rushes him to the bed.

* * *

><p>The next morning, when Loki wakes, Thor is snoring barbarically beside him and he can feel a delicious soreness deep in his bones. In the cool light of early morning, he rubs his fingers across Thor's lips, detects the faintest traces of a seidr that he does not know.<p>

Frowning, he gathers a robe around him and pads off in the direction of the nursery.

When he enters, Modi looks up at him impishly (and Loki wonders if this is how Thor feels when Loki gives him the same look) and gives him a little, toothless smile.


	34. Sweven

Written to Swimming in the Flood - Passion Pit, crosspost from AO3.

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><p><em><strong>Sweven: <strong>A vision seen in sleep; a dream. _

Tony doesn't like to tell anybody about it, but he and Pepper both know why he sometimes wakes up flailing and gasping for air in the middle of the night. They both know that sometimes he has dreams of being back in the Middle East, gasping for air that was mostly dust while he tinkers with too-small screws and cogs and tries to save himself. They both know that he doesn't always succeed, and that is when he wakes up with a scream lodged halfway in his throat and has to slap himself to make sure that he is alive, that he is real, that it was just a nightmare.

Pepper often spends those nights awake beside him, stroking over his thumb with her own, whispering to him under the covers that it's alright, she's here, he's here, it's alright. Tony, for his part, spends the remainder of the night tracing her features with his eyes, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears, and repeating silently to himself things that he knows for a fact to be true.

One night, Tony wakes her up with laughter, and she stares at him curiously. He giggles in his sleep, says something that she can't quite understand, babbles to himself. Once or twice she thinks she catches her name thrown somewhere in there, but she isn't sure.

She hugs a pillow to her chest and watches him laugh himself back into deep slumber, and there is the slightest hint of a smile on her face as she, too, falls back to sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning, when she wakes up, Tony is sitting up in bed, a tray table on his lap littered with toast crumbs and small, empty containers of marmalade. He sips a cup of coffee (black, no sugar, and Pepper takes in the rich aroma with a sigh and a smile) and scratches behind his ear with a pencil as he frowns over some documents, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.<p>

"Hey, you," he says, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, a grin sparking across his mouth for the briefest of moments before he goes back to looking at the papers in his hands.

"Hey," she says, languidly stretching and snuggling into the sheets. "You woke me up last night."

"I did?" Tony asks, arching a brow at her.

"You did," she affirms. "You were laughing. Nothing insane or demonic, that would have been terrifying. You sounded happy. Must have been a good dream. I think you might have been talking to me?"

Tony grins, sets down the papers and reaches over to pinch her cheek. "I'm always happy when I talk to you," he says. "Unless, of course, it's when you're trying to make me do work. That's not very happy conversation, you must admit."

Pepper laughs. "Tell me what your dream was about?"

Tony furrows his brow, pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to remember. "I think...I think I dreamt about having a kid," he says slowly after a few moments. "I was teaching him - I think it was a him, it wasn't wearing a dress, but then again you can never tell - some basic chemistry in the lab downstairs. I think you came in after a while, and you were carrying something...a snack, maybe? And we both shouted at you that you weren't supposed to bring food into the laboratory, that it wasn't safe with all those chemicals floating around. I dunno. It was cute."

Pepper stifles a grin into the curve of her hand as she thinks about the best way in which to tell Tony of the positive stick hidden in her bottom desk drawer.


	35. Heliophilia

Written to: The River - Imagine Dragons, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Heliophilia: <strong>Desire to stay in the sun; a love of sunlight._

"Aw, don't be like that," Darcy says, trying to hold in a giggle as Helblindi pouts at himself in her floor-length mirror. It had been a lovely, hot summer day in New York, and unfortunately, Helblindi did have rather delicate skin, as he was wont to remind Darcy at every possible moment.

He'd let his glamour fade a little bit, and he examines his patchy blue and violet skin with a frown that reminds Darcy of Loki. He prods one of the purple patches with a tentative finger, hisses a bit as it stings and burns.

"How is it that you are not burnt?" he questions her, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "You Midgardians are so fragile, how is it that you have not burnt away to a crisp by now?"

Darcy laughs, steps around him to rifle through her bathroom's medicine cabinet for a tube of aloe vera.

"Here. This will help," she says, handing it to him. He takes the tube of lotion from her, pops it open with a little frown, and begins slathering it over his face. Darcy squeezes a blob of the gel into her hands and reaches up on tiptoe to rub it into the back of his neck.

"I dunno," she muses. "I guess I'm just used to it. I bet it doesn't get very hot back home. You know, you being a frost prince and all."

Helblindi snorts, as if that were the understatement of the millennia. "Perhaps," he admits. "I haven't been out of Jotunheimr often. It's only been recently, because I have been visiting you."

Darcy blushes and hides her grin behind Helblindi's back.

* * *

><p>"Come oooonnnnn," Darcy whines, tugging at Helblindi's hand. He's all bundled up like he is ready for a blizzard, and only an inch of skin is showing between his scarf and sunglasses. "You're going to melt if you go outside like that. And the sun wants to see you!"<p>

Helblindi only shakes his head firmly, and tells her, in a muffled voice, that the sun is not his friend, that in fact, they are the worst of enemies.

Darcy rolls her eyes and pushes him back into her apartment, insists that he definitely cannot go out like that, he will embarrass her and probably frighten small children. Helblindi eyes her for a moment behind his sunglasses before carefully unwinding his scarf and unbuttoning his coat as she putters around in her bathroom, opening and closing cabinets.

She returns with a another bottle of lotion in her hand, and Helblindi just barely has a chance to catch a glimpse of the number "45" emblazoned in colourful, blue font before Darcy commands him to close his eyes. He obliges, and she rubs the lotion into his skin.

"All done," she tells him after a few minutes, when she has finished emptying the contents of the bottle over his arms and legs and neck. He stands up, feeling oily and slippery and sticky. "Come on, let's go, I said I'd take you to the state fair."

He reaches out for the coat again, but she shoots him a look that Helblindi would have been proud of if he hadn't been so suddenly cowed. "Leave the coat. And the sunglasses. And the scarf."

* * *

><p>They spend the day walking around, holding hands, eating all manner of greasy food and playing trivial games (Helblindi really could not understand the difficulty in knocking down three metal bottles); at the end of the day, when he finally unfolds himself beside her in her bed, much to his surprise, he finds that it doesn't hurt at all.<p> 


	36. Dépaysement

Written to: Someday - The Strokes, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dépaysement: <strong>When someone is taken out of their own familiar world into a new one._

Laufey is nothing short of delighted when Loki comes bustling through the door of the ice palace, blowing snow out of his eyes and cradling what looks like a huge bundle of blankets in the protective circle of his arms. Laufey is nothing short of disgusted when Thor follows him a moment later, shaking snow and ice out of his travelling cloak like a giant wet dog and spraying the foyer with melting puddles of cold.

"Darling, we're so glad you could make it!" Farbauti exclaims with a huge smile on her face as she comes forward, holding out her arms to envelope Loki and Modi - who really could not understand why his mama felt it necessary to bundle him up in nothing short of ten fleece blankets - in a hug. Pulling back, she pinches Loki's cheeks with a smile, grins up at Thor in an impish manner that he is all too familiar with, and greets him as well.

Modi waves a little fist around in the air, trying to grab at Farbauti's hand, and Loki gladly hands him over to his mother as he bends over to unlace his boots.

"Your first visit to Jotunheimr," Laufey says, looking at Modi over Farbauti's shoulder. "How do you like it here, little prince? Is it too cold for your liking?"

Modi babbles up at him unintelligibly, and Laufey laughs, nods in understanding as if Modi and he are having some deep conversation on Jotunheimr's frosty climate. Modi opens and closes his hands like tiny starfish, trying to grasp at the little snowflakes that seem to constantly float down from the ice palace's upper floors, examines his hands curiously when the snowflakes melt upon contact with his fingers.

"Oh, yes," Farbauti says, looking up to the castle's upper floors. "Your brothers have been engaging in some...rather explicit activities, and so are rather indisposed," she tells Loki, who is brushing his shoulders off. "Byleistr is rather infatuated with that doppelganger you sent over. And Helblindi...I believe he is seeing a Midgardian woman? Oh, what was her name?" She taps her cheek, trying to remember, while Modi squeals in delight and grabs at the dangling ice bracelets on her wrists, pouting when they do not come off or make amusing noises or melt in his hands.

"Darcy?" Loki supplies, and Thor just goggles at him in surprise and disbelief. Surely he couldn't mean that Darcy, not the one that was friends with Lady Jane. Surely not.

"That's right!" Farbauti says, smiling benevolently down at Modi, who babbled up at her as if to complain about the lack of amusement provided by her sparkly jewelry. "Darcy Lewis. Helblindi seems to like her very much. He's visited Midgard so much, he's started to turn purple! But come, now, you must be famished. You've gotten so thin, are you sure you're eating properly?"

Farbauti continues this babble as she begins to walk with Loki towards the ice castle's dining hall, catching him up on Jotunheimr current events, and Thor makes a move to follow before Laufey clears his throat.

"Ahem," Laufey says, more of a snarl than a statement, glaring down at Thor's feet. "It would...benefit you not to track water and ice all over my halls."

Thor glares at him, glares pointedly up at the snowdrifts still sprinkling down from the ceiling before bending down and unlacing his boots.


	37. Agelast

Written to: Tokyo - Imagine Dragons, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Agelast: <strong>Someone who never laughs._

Odin is not particularly amused when Frigga unceremoniously dumps Modi into his lap and commands him to spend some quality time with his grandson while she prepares a bottle for him. It had been centuries since he'd been face to face with a real, live babe, and this was somewhat of a discomforting experience for him. Modi, on the other hand, didn't show any signs of distress, not even when Odin eyed him with his one good eye with a look that would have made most grown men cower in fear.

He simply babbles up at Odin unintelligibly, and when Odin looks up across the throne room to see if there are any other people in the throne room that might possibly be coerced into taking care of him, Modi takes a great fistful of beard and tugs. When Odin looks down at him with a disgruntled look on his face, Modi smiles brightly up at him and continues talking in a language that Odin cannot understand.

"I must say, you are quite the chatterbox," Odin comments, and Modi tilts his head to one side, staring up at him with huge blue eyes that remind Odin so much of Thor as a child. "You probably get that from Loki, don't you? Thor was never quite so...talkative."

In Odin's memory, Thor as a toddler had been quite apt to picking up tables and chairs and throwing them across the room before looking back at Odin and Frigga and clapping his tiny hands in delight. Modi, on the other hand, seemed more than content to just sit quietly in Odin's lap and play with his beard and anything shiny that was in his reach (including but not limited to the arms of the throne, Odin's sceptre, and his eyepatch).

"Boo!" Modi shouts at him when Odin once again lets his attention drift, and Odin snaps his gaze back to the baby in his lap, astonished by the volume the tiny bundle he held could produce. "Boo?" Modi questions, a little bit softer as he meets Odin's stare with his own.

"Boo? Do you find me frightening?" Odin asks. "I am your grandfather. That means I'm your father's father. And I guess your mother's father, too. Never mind. Perhaps it is better if Loki explains it to you, I am not good at these things."

Modi concentrates very hard, and far off in the distance Odin can hear Thor slamming Mjolnir around the training grounds, accompanied with loud cracks of thunder. After one particularly loud clap, Modi squeals with laughter and shrieks, "Boo!" as if he is imitating the noises outside. Against Odin's better wishes, he can feel a corner of his mouth tilting up in a smile.

Frigga comes back a few minutes later, a fresh bottle for Modi in her hands, and is astonished to find her husband laughing and tickling Modi with his beard.


	38. Sabaism

Written to: Intro - The Xx, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>SabaismSabaeanism: **The worship of stars._

Thor finds Loki and Modi lying outside one cool spring night, staring up at the dark velvet of the nighttime sky all studded with starry jewels. Modi's eyes track the progress of a meteor or a shooting star or some other cosmic object as it streaks across the sky, and Thor can see its reflection in his son's delighted gaze.

Loki, his head pillowed on one of his arms, points up at the different constellations and picks out shapes in the sky that Thor can only see after he watches Loki carve it out. He tells Modi about the constellations and the stories, tells Modi tales of gods that Thor has never heard of; of Orion and his belt of three stars, how he liked to hunt across the cosmos for magnificent animals; of Cassiopeia, the queen of Aethiopia, who was put into the sky as a punishment for boastfulness; of the many-headed monster called the Hydra, who grew more heads when one was chopped off. Modi listens with interest, and Thor wonders if he can understand what Loki is saying beyond the melodic flow and ebbs of the syllables that slip past his tongue.

He can just make out the faint curve of a smile on Loki's face as he lies himself carefully down beside him, can feel the grin widen against his shoulder as he wriggles a strong arm underneath Loki and curls him to his chest.

"Perhaps one day, your papa will have a constellation just for himself," Loki tells Modi, splaying his fingers against Thor's broad chest. "So that all the realms may know him."

Loki laughs. "I say that as if all the realms have not heard of you," he teases Thor. "You are quite loud. Your voice rings from Asgard all the way to Svartalfheim and makes Malekith punch his pillows in anger because he cannot sleep for all your roaring."

"I would imagine I might get quite lonely among the stars," Thor comments, running his fingers through Loki's silky hair. "It would not be a pleasurable experience unless you and Modi were also there, and preferably not legions away in the sky. The sky is very vast."

Loki snorts at this obvious statement. "It is indeed," he agrees. "Fortunately, I do not believe either of us have warranted a punishment so great as to be banished to the skies. Not yet, at least."

Thor traces the swell of Loki's lower lip with his thumb, remembering a time when he would feel stitches along the plump flesh. Loki remembers, too, if the expression on his face is anything to go by.

Loki opens his mouth, as though he wants to say something, and Thor wonders if it will be a long overdue explanation for the incident leading up to the stitches. Loki closes his mouth after a few moments, silent, and Thor decides that Loki will tell him eventually, decides not to press the matter, and tracks the progress of shooting stars held in the reflection of Loki's eyes.


	39. Logomachy

Written to: Every Night - Imagine Dragons, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Logomachy: <strong>An argument over words. _

"It was a very silly quarrel," Loki admits as he lies with his head pillowed on Thor's chest a few weeks later. Thor wonders what he is talking about, runs his fingers through Loki's hair and waits patiently.

"I'd made a bet with some dwarves from Nidavellir. I don't really remember what it was about. It was many millennia ago, and I was still rather young and reckless."

"You are still young and reckless, my love," Thor reminds him, smiling as he feels Loki's mouth stretch into a grin against his flesh.

"I lost. I know, it is rather difficult to imagine, isn't it? Me losing a bet? But that is most likely because I am always able to coerce you into thinking that I did not lose anything at all."

"Yes, you are," Thor agrees. "You are rather clever in that regard, and you are quite adept at making me believe I have done something wrong when in fact I have done nothing of the sort as a way to convince me to love you more even if I am already tired."

He nudges Loki between the thighs with a knee, laughs deep and throaty as he feels Loki's cock twitch slightly with interest and hears a slight hiss of breath from between Loki's teeth.

"As their prize, they wanted my head," Loki continues, rolling over so that he is seated firmly in the cradle of Thor's hips, their cocks nestling together hot and velvety. "And of course I had no problem giving that up, why would I? But I told them they most definitely could take my neck with it."

He takes both of their cocks in his hand, begins to stroke and pump. Thor watches in fascination as Loki's long, elegant fingers wrap around both their flesh and drags upwards in delightfully sinful motions.

"And who is to say where my neck ends and where my head begins?" Loki asks nonchalantly. "In the end, they could not agree on where one was to stop and the other was to begin, so they decided to stitch my mouth shut for playing with words. That was quite possibly the worst punishment I have ever endured."

"It was quite tragic," Thor murmurs, entranced by Loki's thumb worrying at the head of his cock. "I missed your voice for many years, silvered as it was."

Loki sighs, a throaty moan spilling from his throat as he rocks himself forwards, leaking sticky fluid onto his fingers. "Your head and neck are far too close to each other for proper distinction," Thor says, leaning forwards and pressing rough kisses to the underside of Loki's jaw. He wraps a broad hand around Loki's fingers, encourages him to pump faster and rougher, drawing soft cries from Loki's mouth.

Loki wriggles his hand out from underneath Thor's, places it on the back of Thor's neck and pulls him forward for a kiss. Thor smiles mischievously, pulls his hand back so his fingers are mostly wrapped around his own flesh, and Loki opens green eyes dilated with want and lust and pouts at him.

"Don't do that," he begs breathlessly, and Thor catches his wandering hands with his free hand. "Me too, this isn't fair," he whines, but if anyone asked, he most definitely hadn't been whining.

"Who is to say where you end and I begin?" Thor asks, nibbling tenderly at Loki's bottom lip. Loki draws back, looks at him incredulously, and threatens Thor that he would stitch his cock shut if he didn't continue, right this very instant. Thor laughs at Loki's empty threat, and obliges.


	40. Carriwitchet

Written to: The Great Escape - Boys Like Girls, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Carriwitchet: <strong>a pun or a paradox; a riddling question._

"Loki, a Midgardian child has told me the most amusing of riddles," Thor says as he walks into their bed chambers after a long day of show and tell, during which he had been coerced (and threatened, although he was not quite sure) into taking several Midgardian school children on flights with Mjolnir.

"What was it?" Loki asks, not looking up from his spellbook. Knowing Thor, he was sure it would be some completely silly question.

"Why did the chicken cross the road?" Thor repeats, settling himself on the bed beside Loki and squinting at the spell book, which is filled with runes and characters that he can never hope to decipher but which Loki seems to be able to read with ease.

Loki sighs, shoots Thor a long-suffering glance. "Why?" he asks, if only to indulge Thor.

"To get to your house."

Loki quirks an eyebrow at him, rolls his eyes and proceeds to turn back to the spellbook, but Thor touches his arm.

"The riddle is not yet finished, love," he says. "I believe it is two parts. Knock knock."

Loki groans, rubbing his temples. "Who's there?" he mutters.

"The chicken!" Thor bursts out into a huge fit of laughter, great barks of merriment that make the mattress shake underneath Loki. Loki just stares at Thor in disbelief, and shakes his head at his husband's simplemindedness.

"That is not a riddle, you fool," Loki says, and Thor props himself up on one elbow, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, and asks Loki to put a question to him.

Loki taps his fingers against his chin, thinking.

"Alright. Assume you have a bag of grain, a chicken, and a fox, and you want to cross a river."

"I can fly across the river," Thor says, looking at him in confusion. Loki sighs.

"You have to use a boat to get across this particular river," he clarifies. "Now stop interrupting and let me finish. Your boat is only large enough to take you and one other thing across the river at a time."

Thor mutters something along the lines of "inefficiency," and "how I would never build a boat that small."

"You cannot have the chicken and the grain on the same side of the river unattended, because the chicken will eat the grain. The fox and the chicken cannot be on the same side of the river unattended, because the fox will eat the chicken. So how would you propose to get all three things across the river?"

Loki can almost hear the wheels in Thor's head clicking around slowly as he mulls over this information, can see the frustrated squint of his husband's eyes as he strokes at his beard and thinks. Loki, satisfied that he may have a few more minutes of peace, goes back to reading.

He is rudely interrupted a few moments later, when Thor taps at his knee and asks him if he himself can eat the chicken. Loki only sighs in exasperation, and swats Thor over the head lightly with the back of his book.


	41. Dysania

Written to: Turn Me On - David Guetta ft. Nicki Minaj, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dysania: <strong>Finding it extremely hard to get out of bed in the morning._

"Do you intend to sleep the whole day away?" Thor asks, nudging Loki's side with his knee gently. Loki mutters something that Thor is sure is to the effect of telling Thor to go away and leave him be, and to be true, the sun has not yet risen over the distant mountains, but Thor had woken up wanting, and Thor eagerly wished for Loki to hurry and wake up already so they could have some enjoyment before Modi were to wake up and demand all their attention.

"Loki," Thor whines, nudging at Loki's shoulder with his forehead. Loki groans, stretches, before rolling over onto his back and turning his face away from Thor.

Thor frowns, taps his chin in thought. Loki's nightshirt has ridden up, exposing the taut lines and muscles of his abdomen, exposing the delicate hollows of skin stretched over his hip bones, and Thor grins as a thought begins to blossom in his mind.

Loki sighs, his breath stuttering as Thor tugs his pyjama bottoms down, wraps a few careful fingers around Loki, but Loki does not wake. Thor smiles gleefully and pushes up Loki's shirt farther, mouthing gentle kisses and sucks to soft, dusky nipples as he continues to stroke with his other hand. Loki twitches underneath him, and, much to his delight, Thor can feel Loki hardening in his palm.

Loki opens his eyes, startled out of sleep as Thor strokes up, rolls his wrist in a circular motion that causes pleasure to jolt up Loki's spine.

"What are you doing?" he gasps, propping himself up on an elbow and biting his lip at the sordid sight it presented him. Thor only smiled, more innocently than he had any right to, and bent down to envelop Loki's erection in his mouth.

* * *

><p>"Do you intend to sleep the whole day away?" Loki asks, nudging Thor's side with his knee gently.<p>

Thor had fallen back asleep after pounding Loki into the bedsheets, and Loki could still feel the delicious ache in his hips, could still feel the stickiness between his thighs as the sun crept across the sky.

Thor mutters something that Loki is sure is to the effect of telling Loki to go away and leave him be, and rolls over onto his stomach, clutching a pillow to his chest.


	42. Desenrascanço

Written to: Time to Pretend - MGMT, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Desenrascanço: <strong>The improvisation of haphazard but completely sound solutions or plans at the last minute._

Thor bounces Modi up and down in his lap as he sits in an armchair by the library fire, waiting patiently for Loki to finish up a book so that they can go on a picnic. Loki had assured him thirty minutes ago that he would be finished quickly, but Thor is beginning to question what Loki's definition of quickly is.

Loki sighs, stretches with a groan, and stands up, tells Thor that he will just use the bathroom and then they can set off. Thor smiles, and Modi claps his little hands in delight, spilling droplets of milk from his bottle everywhere, at the prospect of finally getting to go outside. Thor picks Modi up and goes over to look at the book Loki was reading as Loki exits the library.

He can barely make heads or tails of it, and he assumes it must be one of those fantastically difficult spell tomes Loki is prone to reading. Modi, for his part, is not interested at all in the strange runes and characters inscribed upon the pages, and babbles something that Thor cannot understand before promptly tossing his bottle onto the book.

Thor watches, aghast, as the milk seeps into the pages, and Modi laughs, a laugh that sounds completely like Loki, and Thor racks his brains desperately while he swipes at the pages with his sleeve and tries to dry it a bit. His efforts are futile, and he can hear Loki washing up in their bathroom.

"You little imp," Thor hisses to Modi, who just sticks his thumb in his mouth and gives Thor a look, like he is daring Thor to punish him. "Exactly like your mother, you are."

As Loki calls out from the hallway that he is ready, Thor hurriedly slips the book jacket off, slams the spellbook closed, and shoves the naked volume back into a shelf. He selects another equally thick book at random from a shelf and quickly slides the jacket on it just as Loki steps through the door.

* * *

><p>Loki, for his part, is incredibly perplexed two days later, when he opens the book again and finds instead a very detailed account of oral intercourse.<p> 


	43. Psithurism

Written to: Superman - Five For Fighting, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Psithurism: <strong>The sound of wind through trees._

"What are you thinking about?" Farbauti asks, tracing absentminded swirls and patterns on Laufey's chest while they listen to the howling winds outside, slightly muffled by the icy walls of their palace. "I have never seen you so contemplative, except in times of war. You...are certainly not planning to go to war, again?"

Laufey looks at her, feels a bit of regret that she had only given her quirky mouth and expressive eyes to one of their sons.

"No," he says after a long moment. "I have no plans to go to war in the near future."

"Then why does your brow furrow so?" she asks, reaching up to rub at the furrow between his eyebrows. "Do you hurt somewhere?"

"I was just thinking about Helblindi," he explains. "Him and that Midgardian woman."

"Do you not approve?" Farbauti questions, sitting up; Laufey admires the soft curves of her legs and back as she goes over to the window and draws back the curtains a bit, to let the soft grey light of the storm in. From the bed, Laufey can see great trees on far off mountains bending in acquiescence to the howling gale.

"It is not that I don't approve. She is a very nice woman, I think. She reminds me of you; sassy, bold, determined."

"Then what is the problem?"

"She will not live forever, Farbauti. Helblindi must know this, too. I am afraid that he will not love her as much as he could have, not to the fullest, because he knows he will have to say good-bye one day."

Farbauti turns back to him, her face shadowed in profile, but he can still feel her searching gaze on him.

"It is an interesting thought," she agrees as she returns to their bed, burrowing into the blankets and curling herself against him. "Midgardians do not live very long, less than a century. We have millennia. This Darcy woman may not even be the one Helblindi is destined to be with for the rest of his life."

"What if she is?" Laufey asks, rolling over to look at Farbauti. "What if she is?"

Laufey drifts off to sleep a few minutes later, his brow still furrowed in thought, and Farbauti looks up at the ceiling in silence, thinking, while the storm rages outside.


	44. Tacenda

Written to: Levels - Avicii, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Tacenda: <strong>Things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence._

Thor doesn't ask Loki what he did when he went to Midgard a few days ago. Loki had mumbled something about Darcy inviting him to something called a 'rager;' Thor had absolutely no idea what that was, and in fact, he'd asked Loki if he was even capable of summoning enough anger to go berserk. Loki had given him a look that said he was perfectly capable of doing anything, that he was Loki and could do whatever the hell he wanted but Thor was completely missing the point, and Thor had wisely decided not to follow that particular route of conversation any longer.

Thor does have to ask, though, when he pushes Loki's shirt up a few days later and sees twin glints of silver and gold adorning Loki's nipples.

"What are these?" he asks, completely dumbfounded, as he flicks one and Loki shivers.

"Piercings, I suppose," Loki mutters, arching his hips up into Thor's chest and hoping he would take the hint; Thor was hopelessly fascinated by the jewelry on Loki's chest, however, and continued to roll the metal between his fingers.

"Have you always had these?" Thor wants to know, pressing kisses to Loki's chest and tasting metal and the sweetness of Loki's skin. Loki sighs, rolls his hips up, and Thor can feel him pressing against his ribs.

"I was…rather inebriated when I went to that gathering with Darcy a few days ago," Loki admits, and if anyone asked him, he most definitely had not whined as Thor wrapped his lips around a nipple and sucked. The piercings had made the flesh all the more sensitive, even though it had healed rather rapidly.

"Where did you get them?" Thor asks, and Loki is sure by now his nipples are bitten red. "Did they hurt very much?"

"Can we not talk about this any more?" Loki asks, pressing up more insistently against Thor's ribs, and Thor only grins and finally, finally moves his hands down to slip Loki's cotton pyjamas off his legs.

* * *

><p>Thor is a mixture of surprised, amused, aroused, and jealous when he tugs down Loki's pyjama pants and finds Loki has a vagina, and that Loki has pierced that as well.<p>

Loki stubbornly refuses to tell him who did it, and so Thor can only settle for licking at his pierced clitoris and enjoying the desperate, frantic twitches of Loki's hips underneath him.


	45. Jaaneman

Written to: I Want You - Savage Garden, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Jaaneman: <strong>Literally, "soul of me." A gender-neutral word for sweetheart or darling._

"What do you think, tiny one?" Thor asks Modi. Modi, who has only recently begun to sit up by himself, pays no attention to his father and instead goes back to banging differently shaped blocks into holes in a tray. "What ought we to get your mama for his birthday?"

Modi babbles something at him, and the tone of voice he uses is so like Loki that Thor cannot help but smile and reach over to cuddle his son, who squirms as he tries to get away and shove a trapezoid into the tray table.

"Do you have any idea?" Thor asks, and Modi just gives him a look as if to remind Thor firmly that his place of present importance is far below that of the yellow pyramid he holds in his hands.

Modi bangs a blue sphere onto the table while Thor watches, tries to shove it into a square hole; the circular hole in the tray has been currently blocked up by the yellow pyramid.

"Modi, love, the sphere is supposed to go in the circle," Thor explains, reaching over to try to help; Modi swats his hand away, losing his own balance in the process and toppling over onto Jörmungandr, who hisses at him and indicates that he is not the least bit amused. Modi pushes himself back up using Jörmungandr's neck as a brace; the baby serpent unhinges his jaw and bites ineffectively at Modi's arm, but Modi just shakes him off and Jory coils up into a little circle on the ground, glaring at him with beady eyes.

Loki comes in with a tray of snacks: slices of apples from Idunn's garden for himself and Thor, what looks to be like mouse-shaped gummies for Jory, and a bottle for Modi.

"Modi, darling," he says, setting the tray down and reaching over. "The blue sphere goes in the circle hole, see, because the pyramid likes to go in the triangle."

Modi shoots him a glare that Loki himself finds he is irrationally proud of before slapping Loki's hand away and falling over onto Jory again. Jory, much too preoccupied with chewing on the gummies, doesn't even hiss at Modi as Modi grabs at his tail to push himself back up again.

Thor wraps an arm around Loki and presses a kiss to his lips, tasting the sweet burst of apple in his mouth with a smile.


	46. Oubliette

Written to: Thursday - Takenobu, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Oubliette: <strong>A dungeon with a door only in the ceiling; a place you put people to forget about them._

"This is a rather tragic place," Thor comments as he holds Loki's hand and looks at a spitting, hissing Malekith behind an invisible force field deep in the dungeons of Asgard.

Loki shrugs. "Surely it cannot be much too different for him; from what I recall, Svartalfheim is much like this. Miserable and boring."

Sif had caught Malekith not only a few hours ago, prodding and poking around Idunn's orchards and leaving a trail of gnawed apple cores behind him. The Dark Elf had eaten himself sick and Idunn had eyed him with disapproval before summoning a few royal guards who poked and prodded him into the dungeons.

"I am not quite so sure that he is as bored as all that; the apples may have had some unexpected effects on him," Thor says, watching in disbelief as Malekith lies down on the cold stone floor and strips himself of his trousers, wraps a hand around himself and begins to stroke vigorously with a pace that Thor is amazed by.

Loki eyes the elf in disgust, ignores him when he starts to ask for Byleistr.

Loki takes Thor's hand, shuddering at the very idea, and wonders if there are any spells in the library that he can possibly use to wipe his memory. Thor, for his part, is seriously considering if there were any spells Loki knew that could make Malekith look like Thor; the clone Byleistr had been so infatuated with had recently decided to gain sentience and make a break for freedom and was now currently wandering around, hopelessly lost, in the frozen mists of Jotunheimr. Byleistr had been inconsolable and the flood of explicit and poorly worded love letters had begun to come for Thor in the post again, and even though there was usually no post on Sundays, Byleistr seemed to find a way.

He breaches the idea tentatively a few weeks later, when Loki has all but forgotten about Malekith deep beneath Asgard's floors. Loki gives him a look that cows Thor into silence again, and takes up a little plastic spoon to continue feeding Modi some mashed carrots.


	47. Callipygian

Written to: Daylight - Matt and Kim, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Callipygian: <strong>Having shapely buttocks._

Thor wonders if it is just the thunder rumbling in him more than usual, or if Loki's bottom has become much more attractive than usual, or if it is a combination of the two. He finds himself hard pressed to stop staring as Loki glides past him at breakfast, finds his mouth goes dry too quickly as Loki bends over to fit Modi into his seat, finds that he cannot stop his eyes from tracing the smooth swell underneath Loki's robes.

"You seem particularly smitten with my backside," Loki observes one night after dinner is finished and he and Thor are safely ensconced in their chambers. "Has my front side not been so inviting recently?"

Thor stares at the outline of Loki's long legs underneath the thin white sheet, finds he cannot drag his eyes up any higher than the small of Loki's back.

"I do not know what it is, love," Thor admits, reaching up to Loki's shoulders and dragging down the sheets, sighing in pleasure as he feasts his eyes on the view afforded to him. "You have a very pleasing bottom to admire. It is so...well, my words fail me at the moment, but it is quite possibly one of the loveliest, if not the loveliest, bottom in all the realms."

Loki snorts, rolls his eyes. "I would think that I am the most gorgeous being in all the realms, thank you kindly, but I do suppose my bottom does make some contributions to that title. And as for your words failing you, that is nothing new; however, I think some words that might be good to describe it would be along the lines of firm, resilient, perky. Things like that."

Thor cannot help but agree, and gently palms one cheek before drawing back his hand and quickly slapping it. He admires the bright red handprint he leaves behind as Loki yelps, pushes himself up, and glares at Thor from around his shoulder.

"What was that for, you imbecile?" Loki snaps. "You certainly don't hit things you like, hasn't millennia taught you that?"

Thor eyes him carefully. "You like it," he points out. "And I like it."

Loki huffs in annoyance and tries to ignore the flush crawling across his cheeks. "That doesn't mean anything," he says, but as Thor draws his hand back and lays another great big print across Loki's other cheek, Loki finds tingles of arousal running up his spine, much to his horror and Thor's vast delight.

"You have a perfect bottom for spanking," Thor says. "I am quite grateful for it."

Loki rolls his eyes, pushes his hips back towards Thor for more, looks back when Thor doesn't continue. Thor is stroking his beard, thinking.

"If I have such a shapely bottom," Loki hisses, wiggling it at him and enjoying how Thor's gaze snaps instantly back to him, "how dare you ignore it? One would think you were a god, to have such self-control."

Thor laughs, pats Loki's bottom reassuringly.

"Do not worry, love," he says. "I was just wondering if you still had those dark, tight pants you and the Lady Darcy bought on Midgard. You know the ones I am talking about, the black ones that cling delightfully tight to your legs and waist?"

"What of them?" Loki wants to know.

"They make more of those pants on Midgard, yes?" Thor asks, pinning Loki to the bed. "I would wish to have you wear them and then rip them off you, but since this particular god does so enjoy the view they afford, it would be quite a shame if you would never be able to wear pants to that effect again."

Loki laughs and presses a kiss to Thor's mouth, telling him not to worry, America is obsessed with skinny jeans at the present moment, and Thor grins in relief before he commands Loki to go to the closet and put on the pants in question.


	48. Forelsket

Written to: Greeneries - Takenobu, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Forelsket: <strong>The euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love._

Thor does not remember when it begun, when he began to look at Loki as more than just a friend, a playmate, someone to climb the trees of Idunn's gardens with when they weren't supposed to. He does not remember when he began to take notice of the curve of Loki's mouth, when the sparkle in Loki's smile began to dazzle him beyond belief, when the shade of Loki's blue skin began to be more than just a colour and instead became a wealth of mystery and icy places that Thor wanted to explore.

He supposes it began around sometime in the early 500s, and even that is just a rough estimate.

"Loki," he says one morning, when Loki is still clinging to his pillow and trying to ignore Thor so that he can slip back into dreams once again, "do you remember when we fell in love?"

Loki sighs, as if he finds the question irritating, but Thor prods him in the side and repeats himself. Loki cracks open one green eye, and Thor cannot help but smile.

"I did not fall in love," Loki mutters, and Thor can feel his heart skip several beats. "You pushed me, and suddenly I could not help but comply for gravity was dragging me down."

Thor smiles, threads his fingers through Loki's silky hair and strokes through it, combing it gently as Loki arches up into his hand with a soft sigh.

"We were not even grown," Loki says, his voice heavy with sleep, and Thor wonders if he is slipping back into slumber again. "The first time I can remember, I told you to fetch me a certain type of flower that grew high up in the hills of Asgard. And you complained, you said that if I wanted it I would have to go and get it myself, that there was no way in the nine realms that you were going to go all the way there just to pick a little plant."

Thor grins, as he remembers.

"I ended up going," he says, and he can see the corner of Loki's mouth tilt up in a smile. "I was gone for a few days, and when I returned back to Asgard, you had already gone back to Jotunheimr because the sleepover was...over, I suppose. Something to that effect."

"Yes," Loki agrees. "My parents wanted me back, they didn't want me being a burden to Frigga and Odin, though of course you can see where that's gotten us."

"I had to go to Jotunheimr all by myself, because nobody else wanted to go with me," Thor says, gently twirling a strand of Loki's fine hair around his fingers. "And of course nobody told me how bloody cold it would be, nor where the royal palace is in relation to anything. I got lost many times, and I was so angry at you that I swore to myself I would smack you over the head with Mjolnir the next time I saw you."

Loki laughs, his voice soft and clear. "I remember; you burst into the palace one day, your fingers and lips all blue, just like a jötunn's. Father was greatly displeased - he wasn't very startled, so I suppose he knew you were coming, wreaking havoc all across his kingdom - and perhaps he had counted on you to just fall down somewhere in the snow and curl up of frostbite or the like. You stumbled over to me, where I was reading a book, and slapped down this sad little withered stalk in between the pages."

"And it wasn't even the right one," Thor finishes for him, laughing.

"No," Loki says, turning his head to look at Thor, smiling. "It was not. But that was when I knew. That somehow, somewhere along the way, without me even watching, I could not help but be drawn to love you, like a plant raises its head to look up at the sun without knowing why it does."

Thor smiles, bending down to press a kiss to Loki's cheek.

"I never did find you that flower you wanted," he muses. "Perhaps I ought to try again."

Loki only smiles into his pillow and decides not to tell Thor about the little, black stem pressed between the pages of a book he keeps in his nightstand drawer.


	49. Raconteur

Written to: Mother Knows Best - Tangled (Disney OST), crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Raconteur: <strong>A talented storyteller. _

Loki has a habit of telling his children bedtime stories that will ease them quickly into dreams; Thor, unfortunately, is not particularly adept at this area of parenting. Which is why, when Loki asks him if he could kindly put Modi and Jörmungandr to bed, Thor swallows uneasily and arms himself with a vast number of children's storybooks.

Modi looks up at him from his bassinet, his eyes crinkled in a smile that quickly disappears the instant he realises that it is not his mama come to tell him exciting adventures of princesses and knights and dragons, and in fact it is only his woefully ill-equipped papa, armed with boring, mundane stories about silly girls who had no business eating porridge that belonged to someone else. Jörmungandr eyes Thor beadily - though Thor wasn't sure if this was just something unique to him, the baby serpent had Loki's default way of looking at everyone in a condescending manner - and flicks his tongue at him, as if to shoo him away.

Thor sits down heavily next to Modi's cradle, sighs as he opens the first book, and begins to read while Loki bathes in the next room. Thor tries, really, truly he does, to emulate all the voices, makes a big show of displaying the colourful pictures inside the book to both Modi and Jory, but his small audience is clearly unamused by the story of Goldilocks, and so Thor decides to switch to Little Red Riding Hood instead.

Modi obviously didn't much enjoy that story either, though Loki had assured Thor it was Modi's favourite tale and would have him out like a light. The tiny baby decides he has had about enough of this mediocre storytelling right around the part where Little Red stops to pick flowers for her grandmother (and Jory privately thought that the little girl was rather simple, much like the blonde buffoon telling the story) and begins to wail. Thor sighs, rubs his temples as he hears the sounds of sloshing water from the next room stop altogether. Loki didn't much like having his baths interrupted, and surely Thor would not be hearing the end of it.

Loki pads into the nursery, a towel wrapped around his body and another around his hair, looks at Thor disapprovingly. Upon catching a glimpse of his mama, Modi reaches out to him with tiny hands, the smile readily appearing on his face again. Jory hisses in content, not that anyone could actually tell, and coils himself around a pillow, settling his head down and waiting for the real storytelling to begin.

"The children are not amused by me," Thor begins to explain, and Loki just rolls his eyes with a little smile as he leans over and closes the book on Thor's lap.

"Of course they aren't," Loki says, and Thor finds himself more interested in the slender black curl of hair that has managed to escape Loki's towel turban and wriggle its way across his cheek. "How can they be amused by only words such as these and pictures such as those? You must show them."

Thor watches as Loki begins to paint vivid pictures in the air with sparks of seidr that flash across Modi's cheeks and brow with soft reds and greens, listens as Loki's silvered voice winds through the air and makes the meadows of his images come to life, blowing the grass and flowers around Little Red's ankles as she bends down to pick them for her grandmother.

He finds himself dozing off as Loki tells them the story of Sleeping Beauty and how she slept for a hundred years, and by the time Loki turns to look at him, a satisfied grin on his face, he finds Thor with his head pillowed on his hand, sleeping in the armchair as soundly as Modi and Jory are. He shoots Thor a look of disbelief and amusement before quietly blowing out the candles and tiptoeing out of the nursery to finish his bath.

* * *

><p>Thor wakes up the next morning with a horrid crick in his neck and Jory wrapped firmly around his wrist, biting at his fingers. Upon shaking him gently off, Jory gives him a look, as if to question why the big blonde hunk of meat cannot make pictures in the air like his mama can, before giving a little huff and slithering away.<p> 


	50. B'shert

Written to: Strawberry Avalanche - Owl City, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>B'shert<strong>**: **Literally, "destiny;" referring to the seeking of a person who will complement you and whom you will complement perfectly._

"Loki, darling. Loki, wake up," Thor whispers, reaching out and shaking Loki's shoulder tentatively. Loki mutters something in his sleep, and rolls over, clutching a pillow tighter to his chest, waving to Thor to go away and let him sleep in peace. Jory, who has managed to slither into Thor's half of the bed, hisses at him lightly, lazily, before coiling around Loki's wrist and snuggling his nose into the palm of Loki's open hand.

"Loki," Thor hisses, reaching out and pinching the soft skin of Loki's inner arm.

Loki jumps, cracks open an eye, and glares at him. "What do you want?" he snaps, gently stroking Jory's scaly head to soothe him back into sleep; the baby serpent complies happily and snuggles in between Loki's index and middle fingers with a soft sigh. "Must you insist on waking me up at ungodly hours of the morning?"

"I need to know," Thor says. "I need you to remind me of that flower you wanted, all those millennia ago. I said that I was going to try again to find it for you, and Mjolnir is feeling rather accommodating, so I think I can safely be back before lunchtime."

Loki looks at him in positive disbelief, amazed by the fact that Thor actually remembered something that transpired a few days ago; usually his memory was goldfish-like in nature and he couldn't grasp any facts that occurred three or more seconds ago.

"Blue flowers," Loki finally manages to say, once he gets over his disbelief. "Blue flowers, occurring in multiples of threes. The stems are a deep, dark green, almost black, and it has sharp curling thorns. Smells like peppermint, but it is very important that you do not taste it, because it is poisonous and can make you sick."

Thor nods, mulling over the flowers' description and committing it to memory.

"May I get back to sleep now?" Loki asks, snapping the covers up around himself. "You let all the cold air in. How am I supposed to sleep now?" he pouts.

"I will fetch Modi for you, and he can sleep next to you," Thor says. "The babe generates heat like a fire elf."

Loki is already half-asleep when Thor returns with Modi bundled up in his arms. Thor smiles, pressing a kiss to Loki's temple as he carefully deposits Modi next to Loki; his grin widens as Modi snuggles up to Loki's chest and Loki lifts up his arm a bit to allow Modi to press his cheek into the hollow of Loki's neck.

* * *

><p>"You tasted it, didn't you." Loki rolls his eyes as he stares down at Thor in his sickbed; from his position in Loki's arms, Modi copies his mama's exasperation and sticks his thumb in his mouth, and Thor cannot help but smile. His smile quickly turns into a wince as another sharp pain goes shooting through his abdomen.<p>

"I forgot that you said it smelt like peppermint, and thought you said it tasted like peppermint. The cold winds in the Asgardian mountains are not always so kind for recollections, and blow them all out of one's head at the slightest chance."

Loki sighs, sitting down next to Thor. "It only blows the thoughts out of your head because you only have a few thoughts in there and so they cannot help but be swept up."

Thor smiles, closing his eyes and sighing. "I did not forget you," he reminds Loki, and his eyes are not open to see a flush steal across Loki's cheeks. "You are always a constant thought. Perhaps the wind blows all the thoughts out of my head because you take up so much space in my mind there is hardly room for anything else."

Loki rolls his eyes again, blushing furiously, and turns his gaze to the vase of blue flowers on the nightstand.


	51. Nubivagant

Written to: Good Life - OneRepublic, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Nubivagant: <strong>Moving among clouds._

"I have never been to this City of Angels before," Thor tells Loki as Loki herds him onto the plane.

"Remind me why you wanted to go there?" Thor asks as Loki cuddles Modi to his chest and motions for Thor to put their baggage into the overhead bin. "And why could we not have taken Mjolnir?"

The fact that the plane didn't sink instantly to the ground was relieving to Loki; it meant Thor hadn't smuggled Mjolnir somehow past the TSA, though that irritating woman with the smug smile and the gloves had spent rather a long time with her grubby hands pawing all over Thor's crotch while Thor looked bemusedly on.

"I fancied trying to be a Midgardian for a few days," Loki explains, smiling and giving Modi a kiss on the forehead as Modi grabs curiously at his hair. "Being Midgardian means no seidr, no Mjolnir, no nothing. Rather helpless."

"Rather helpless, indeed," Thor mutters as he buckles himself into the seat beside Loki and leaning over to peer out the window. "I have no idea about the reliability of this metal bird. Rest assured, small one," he says to Modi, who babbles up at him, "Mjolnir will come flying if I call her so that you and I can escape. Your mama, whose horrid idea this was, will perhaps be able to pilot the plane. He has proved rather adept at stealing and wielding aerial machines with plenty of buttons and dials."

Loki smiles, rolling his eyes, and tries to ignore the death grip Thor has on his hand as the plane taxis down the runway, gathering speed until it finally takes off with a jolt that has Thor's heart rising into his throat.

Once Thor finally opens his eyes and convinces his jaw to stop clenching, Loki grins at him and points out the window with his elbow. Thor looks past him at the city of New York and the blue, deep water of the ocean soaring past far underneath them, the cars like bright red beetles scurrying about on the thin strips of road.

Modi gasps as the plane tilts upward, soaring into a thick layer of clouds. All is white until the plane pops out, its shadow pressing itself against the golden tops of the clouds, and Thor watches in amazement as thick cottony spirals swirl up around them like an airy castle, the wings cutting through minarets and spires that Thor has only before seen with Mjolnir clasped firmly in his hand.

Loki smiles at Thor's helpless wonder, at the way Modi presses his tiny hands against the airplane window to see the clouds better, and thinks that perhaps being Midgardian is not so bad after all.

* * *

><p>Once they hit turbulence somewhere over the Midwest, Loki sighs and rubs his temples as Thor begins to chant an Asgardian prayer very loudly, his knuckles white against the armrests.<p>

He pinches Thor roughly the instant he sees Mjolnir tagging along, riding the grey swells of cloud in the plane's wake. Thor manages to wrench open his eyes, and per Loki's hissed request, sends Mjolnir flying back to the tower before it can rip through half the plane.

Thor glares at Loki and mutters something about how people probably called it the City of Angels because people died in the process of getting there, and Loki blatantly ignores him.


	52. Pandiculation

Written to: Home - Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Pandiculation: <strong>An all-over stretching and yawning, as upon waking or going to bed._

The metal bird has kept its talons in check rather well, Thor thinks to himself, but this does not stop him from clinging tightly to the armrests and Loki's wrists by turn until the plane has well come to a stop in the LAX terminal. Lax is exactly the opposite definition of what Thor is, and Loki privately thinks to himself that if Thor were to faint upon standing up, he might be inclined to toss a piece of luggage on top of him and claim it had shifted during the flight and fallen out upon opening the overhead bin instead of admitting that his husband did not have the stomach for this simple Midgardian form of transportation.

Modi had had none of his father's inhibitions (and even if he was capable of producing speech, Loki was fairly sure his son wouldn't have started chanting a loud Asgardian prayer that had drawn half the flight's attention to them, and had even had an on-flight priest asking if Thor needed some form of exorcism. Loki had politely declined) and had slept through the latter half of the flight, when he'd grown tired of looking at the castles in the clouds. The turbulence they'd experienced over the Midwest had had the effect of rocking Modi to sleep, and he'd slept quite quietly for the remainder of the flight.

Modi wakes up as the plane stills and Loki shifts him in his arms to carry a duffel bag full of clothes. He sighs, blinks a little bit, looks up at his papa who just barely has the strength to smile encouragingly down at him - he'd spent most of his mental energy trying to hold his own panic at bay.

Modi stretches in Loki's arms, a yawn widening his pink mouth into a perfect oval, and Loki grins down at him.

"Here we are, little one," he says gently. "Los Angeles. We are not angels, as your papa seems to be convinced we would have been had I allowed us to continue the trip. We are very much alive and have not disappeared into thin air."

Modi doesn't particularly care for any of this, and is only interested in what Loki might have packed for him in terms of baby food. Would there be potatoes at the next feeding? That was Modi's only concern. He liked mashed potatoes.

"You're probably hungry, aren't you, sweetheart?" Loki coos down at him as Thor gets out of his seat, stretches his stiff legs and slaps himself twice (the priest behind them asks if Loki is quite sure Thor is not possessed by a demon; Loki sighs, exasperated, and tells the priest that he is quite assured Thor is not possessed, or not yet, at least, and the priest looks quite frightened and hurries past them, chanting Hail Marys as he passes). "I'll feed you quite soon, don't worry, lovely," Loki continues as Thor opens the overhead bin and, true to form, a piece of luggage comes and bonks him straight on the head on its way down. Thor looks nonplussed for a moment before shaking his head and picking it up.

"Would you like potatoes?" Loki asks, and Modi's face brightens at this. "Oh, yes, you love potatoes, don't you, you little Samwise Gamgee?"

Thor stares at Loki, at Modi's smiling visage, reminds him that their son's name is Modi, and not Samwise Hamcheese or whatever Loki had said.

Loki rolls his eyes and tells Thor that it was a literary reference and it might do him well to read some of the better known Midgardian tomes.

As Thor follows Loki down the single aisle of the ferocious metal bird, he thanks the Norns that they survived and thanks the airplane for not swallowing him and his family whole. The priest hears him, and begins sprinkling holy water in their path as they exit the terminal.


	53. Rantipole

Written to: Summer - Malbec, crosspost from AO3.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Rantipole: <strong>A wild, reckless young person; to be wild and reckless; wild and reckless._

"Hey, Nat." Clint walks through the door of their bedroom, where Natasha is lying on the bed and looking at an action film playing on the plasma screen mounted on the wall.

She reaches out, takes the bag of microwave popcorn from his hand, shakes it to coat all the pieces with salt and butter before tearing it open in a puff of steam. She takes out a piece, examines it, places it between perfectly red lips and crunches it with a little squeak before turning her attention to him.

"What is it?" she asks, looking at him with a sweet smile that reminds Clint how easy it is to love her.

"It's a Friday night."

"It is," she agrees, licking a smear of butter from her index finger. Clint follows the path of her tongue along her nail with his eyes. "You're rather observant, though I guess they can't call you Hawkeye for nothing." She turns her attention back to the TV screen, where a man with silver-blue eyes and a rather dashing suit is running across the glass ceiling of some skyscraper, guns blazing. "But what about this particular Friday night causes you to mention it?"

"Well, we're strapping young people," he says reasonably, sitting down beside her and taking a big handful of popcorn; the butter and salt spread slick grease across his fingers and the kernels squeak in protest between his teeth. "And we're doing what old people do, you know, sit down with each other quietly on Friday nights and watch movies about other strapping young people having adventures that we should be having. Making the most of it."

Natasha just rolls her eyes and flicks her attention back to the movie. "Perhaps we're already an old married couple trapped in young people bodies," she says. "A love that spans ages, when we'd rather just stay in with a good film and a bag of popcorn than go out on the town." The way she says it makes Clint's heart flutter in his chest, much more than it has any right to, and he wonders, not for the first time, when would be the appropriate time to pull out that powder blue Tiffany's box that hides in the closet of his own bedroom, which has hardly been used for the past few months.

"What did you have in mind, anyway?" she asks, looking back to him. "We've already been to well over ninety percent of the clubs in New York."

"Not necessarily clubbing," he says with a shrug. "Maybe some daredevil things. Stealing a police car, drag racing, going to that new cupcake place on the corner of 5th and Main that just opened up...they're supposed to have fantastic cheesecake cupcakes, or so I heard. Tony told me Pepper ate no less than fourteen in a day, but that might just be the baby."

He can see the wheels and sophisticated cogs turning around in Natasha's head as she mulls over this information. Unexpectedly, she stands up, takes Clint's hand and jerks him up off the bed into a kiss that tastes intensely of salt.

"God, sometimes like these I remember exactly why I love you, Mr. Barton," she says breathlessly as she hurries him down the tower stairs.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Clint is clinging onto three pink boxes of assorted cupcakes for his dear life as Natasha races the police car down Grand Avenue, sirens blaring and blue and red lights flashing for all they're worth.<p>

"Don't you dare screw up the frosting," she says, laughing as she tosses a swirl of red hair over her shoulder and floors it.

Clint shudders, shields the cupcakes with his life, and thinks to himself it might have been better to just stay in and watch a movie instead.

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes after this, as Natasha is licking whiskey-laced frosting off his chest, Clint grins up at the ceiling and thinks that it was totally worth it.<p> 


	54. Uxorious

Written to: eighty-eights - Farewell, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Uxorious - <strong>Totally submissive to your wife._

"Loki, darling, please just hear me out," Thor begs as Loki folds his arms across his chest and stares pointedly at a plasma TV screen mounted on the hotel wall. "It was completely an accident."

The accident in question had involved Thor accidentally stepping into a pothole while crossing a street in Los Angeles; he'd stumbled and tripped, and, unfortunately, his landing place had proven to be with his face firmly planted into some blonde tart's ample cleavage. This tart in question had giggled and cooed at Thor and told him that oh yes, he could stay there for as long as he wanted, and Loki in his fury had turned her into a pigeon the very instant Thor had picked himself out of her breasts and dusted himself off and apologised to the amused taxi driver who just beeped politely at them to get out of the road.

And, according to Loki, Thor should have shoved himself away from her as fast as possible, should have made some face of disgust and told her that he was most certainly not available. But no, instead Thor had turned to him with a bemused look on his face and asked where the girl had gone and why a rather bejeweled pigeon was standing in her place.

Loki frowns at Thor, who gives him a look like a puppy dog that has just been kicked. The room was conspicuously silent except for the drone of conversation from the television; Darcy and Helblindi, who'd been in the area for whatever reason, had insisted on taking Modi to a children's musical. (Darcy had insisted; Helblindi had picked up Modi and eyed him carefully, examining his as of yet absence of teeth to discover how much it would hurt when he inevitably bit him.)

"And it is not as though we have not had our dalliances in the past," Thor continues, and Loki pouts, unable to dispute this fact. Over the millennia that they'd been together, some breaks had been taken before being quickly resolved; Jörmungandr and Sleipnir were only two results to these little breaks, when Loki had run to other realms and other beings for comfort. But that hadn't been when they were married, Loki wanted to protest, but the presence of children seemed like a much bigger deal.

"Loooooooki, you cannot possibly ignore me forever," Thor says. "I have forever to wait also, so it would do you better if you would just accept my most sincere and heartfelt apologies now."

Loki glares at him, speaks his first words to Thor since the incident. "What will you do in apology?" he wants to know, and Thor's face brightens.

"Anything, sweetheart!" he proclaims grandly. "I would do anything to regain your forgiveness and good graces."

The corners of Loki's mouth tilt up in a little smile as the beginnings of wicked thoughts begin to curl into being in his mind.

* * *

><p>Forty minutes later, Thor horrendously regrets promising Loki anything.<p>

Loki has bound his wrists to the reinforced headboard with ropes of seidr that don't allow Thor any leverage with his hands. Another rope of seidr coils itself delicately around Thor's cock, curling tightly - too tightly - around the base, and Thor cannot help but watch with a dry mouth as Loki sinks himself down for what feels like the millionth time that night. Thor's thighs and abdomen are already wet, sticky, coated with the evidence of Loki's first, second, fifth orgasms, and Loki's wicked mouth is still turned up at the corners, slightly dulled with exhaustion but laughing all the same.

"I believe someone told me punishments shouldn't be enjoyable," he taunts breathlessly, crying out in a high quavering voice as he sinks himself back down roughly into the cradle of Thor's thighs.

Thor grinds his teeth, grinds up into Loki with all the leverage he has in his hips, grins savagely as Loki lets out a high pitched yelp and sob as he spills himself yet again, just a few weak spurts, across Thor's abdomen.

When Thor bucks his hips up again, chasing the unreachable burning heat that has settled in his stomach, Loki groans weakly and tells him that it is starting to hurt, he is too sensitive, and Thor impishly tells him that it was an accident.

Loki pushes himself up, one hand splayed across Thor's chest, and looks at him in disbelief before frowning and resuming a brutal pace once again.


	55. Baisemain

Written to: Eileen - The Hush Sound, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Baisemain: <strong>A kiss on the hand._

"You think I will forgive you," Loki says, looking at Thor who is lying on his side and heaving like a winded bull, his face flushed as he struggles to breathe and recover from the orgasm that had been horrendously long in coming. Loki had eventually taken pity on him after a while (and he, too, was getting pretty tired) before releasing the seidr ropes binding Thor's wrists and cock and allowing Thor to throw him down onto the mattress and pound away until he spread warm heat into Loki.

"Yes," Thor mutters, rolling over to look at Loki, who just arches an eyebrow at him. "Forgiveness is what I have come to expect. And especially after that; you must remind me only to promise you things that I want to promise you instead of just making sweeping generalisations."

"Mm," Loki agrees, but both he and Thor know that he won't remind Thor of that, any time, just like he and Thor both know that Thor will eventually promise Loki anything once again.

"And I have forgiven you, also," Thor says, and Loki looks at him this time, really looks at him. "I have forgiven you for those times when you came back and began to swell heavy with child that was not mine, or when a little basket of baby would arrive for you in the post like a parcel. I have forgiven these things, you must remember."

Loki sighs, knows that this is true and that he cannot dispute the fact. His apologies have been a long time in coming, he thinks, as he finally turns to Thor and says that he is sorry. Really, truly sorry, that it had not been his intent.

Thor gives him a soft smile, pats his knee. "It happens, fairest," he says gently. "And I am sorry, too, for causing them in driving you away with silly quarrels and spats and fights. It is ill befitting of two princes to have such petty disagreements. And it is not like I do not like your children...although I have to say Jörmungandr likes to confuse me for his lunch and then gets very upset when he cannot chew through my skin."

Loki reaches for Thor's broad hand, picks it up, admires its width and strength against his own pale, slim fingers. He presses kisses to Thor's knuckles, tasting salt and sweat and heat that is rapidly boiling away, wonders if he ought to tell Thor about Angrboda, about Sigyn, about Svadilfari.

Thor watches Loki lave gentle kisses over the back of his hand, and wonders when he ought to tell Loki that he has already been forgiven, hundreds of thousands of times over.


	56. Ludic

Written to: So What - P!nk, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Ludic: Full of fun and high spirits. <strong>_

Loki's 3,091st birthday invitations are made of beautifully creamy papyrus, written with actual mermaid tears from phoenix down quills, and embossed with vibranium leaf borders. Vibranium might have been the rarest element on Midgard, but Loki wasn't one to spare expense and had melted down several unused trial shields from the Avengers' inventory before anyone noticed.

Thor looks around the crowded halls of Asgard and wonders who exactly has NOT been invited; it seems the entire populations of all nine realms are present.

In the corner, Helblindi and Darcy sit together, laughing over slices of cake and goblets of wine, and Thor smiles, wishing for the best for the two of them.

He cranes his neck around, looking for the birthday boy in question, quickly ducks down behind a potted plant the instant Laufey sweeps into view, talking animatedly to Farbauti. Thor hears his name mentioned in conversation, and peeks through the fronds, wondering what exactly the frost king can have to say about him, but when he sees Laufey draw his hand across his throat with another mention of Thor's name, Thor decides it is probably better not to ask.

Thor creeps around the perimeter of the great ballroom before spotting Loki sitting at a table, laughing as he cradles Modi in one arm and haphazardly shovels cake into his mouth with the other at an alarming rate. Loki is chatting animatedly with Sif, gesticulating wildly with his fork, and Thor cannot help but smile as Modi waves his arms around, looking at the small flecks of frosting dotting his fingers before sticking them into his mouth and giggling at the sweetness.

"Feeling a bit lonely, are we, Prince Thor?" comes a raspy voice from behind him. Thor turns around, finds Byleistr with a flushed face, a goblet of wine sloshing clumsily over his fingers as he attempts to hold it upright.

Byleistr lunges forward, most likely aiming to grasp at Thor's crotch, and Thor quickly steps to the side; Byleistr smashes into a pillar and grins drunkenly up at him from his position of tangled limbs on the floor.

"I'm over 9000," he says, wobbling as he tries to stand up and failing, "so I've got like 5000 years more experience than my little brother over there." He tilts his head over in Loki's general direction and topples over into a potted fern.

Thor looks around, and upon determining that Byleistr will not be getting up any time soon, quickly nudges him the rest of the way into the soil and hurries off to join Loki at table.


	57. Nelipot

Written to: Sleeping In - The Postal Service, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Nelipot: <strong>One who walks barefoot._

"I don't think he's supposed to be doing that," Darcy says, looking at Modi at his position approximately three feet above the ground. Modi giggles at the confused expression on her face, claps his hands in delight and sends a shower of sparks onto the tile floor of the hotel bathroom. "Is he supposed to be doing that?" she asks Helblindi, who eyes his nephew carefully and tells her that no, he most definitely is not supposed to be doing that. Babies are not supposed to levitate, especially not before they can walk, he tells her nonchalantly, and this new information only sends Darcy even further into a panicked frenzy.

"What should we do?" Darcy asks frantically, even though the ground beneath the baby is covered in a thick layer of towels and blankets and pillows. "Who are we supposed to call about this sort of thing happening?"

"I suppose you could always call Loki," Helblindi points out, stating the obvious.

"And then what am I supposed to tell him?" she says, "Oh excuse me, Loki, hello, how are you, sorry I woke you up but your son is floating and I can't get him to stop."

"...That's exactly what you should tell him."

Darcy throws her hands up in exasperation; Modi imitates her, sending a spark of seidr up to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and causing them to turn into ultraviolet lamps. The fluffy white towels light up brilliantly neon under the black light, and, much to Darcy's horror, there are several speckles on the floor that also light up rather too brightly.

"You're no help at all," she hisses at Helblindi as she bundles Modi up in a towel and tugging the floating baby behind her as she marches out of the bathroom.

* * *

><p>"Hello?" Loki's voice is sleepy, cracking at the corners, and Darcy really would like to apologise but there are more pressing concerns right now.<p>

"Excuse me, Loki, hi, um, sorry I woke you up but your son is floating and he won't listen to reason."

"I beg your pardon?"

From over the telephone, Darcy can hear the sleepy grunts as Thor wakes up and brings himself to consciousness.

"Hi, Thor," she says. "Your son is floating. I've tried to bribe him, with mashed potatoes, with a rattle, and - Oh my God, Helblindi, don't open the window for God's sake!" she snaps, grasping hold of a corner of the towel Modi is wrapped in. Modi is making motions that Darcy recognises as an attempt at swimming. "If he gets out the window, I won't be able to get him back, and then we'll really be screwed."

Helblindi, completely unapologetic, stands by the window and wonders how Los Angeles can still be so bloody hot, even at night.

* * *

><p>"You like to fly, do you, small one?" Thor asks his son as Loki comes back into the hotel bedroom, toweling off his damp hair, his bare feet leaving long, rapidly fading footprints into the thick carpet. Modi is tethered to Mjolnir (who Thor had asked to calmly enter through the hotel window - unfortunately, Mjolnir's definition of 'calm' also somehow managed to involve demolishing half of the Avengers tower on her way out, much to Tony's horror), and is bobbing up and down like a balloon.<p>

"You gave Darcy quite the scare," Loki says, climbing onto the bed and pressing his chilled feet into the tangle of Thor's legs.

Thor absentmindedly sits up, reaches down, takes the heel of one of Loki's feet into his hands, warming the cold skin with his fingers.

"But," Loki says, and Modi looks at him, "you must learn to walk, okay, love? It really will not do to have you floating yourself everywhere. You understand?"

Modi babbles at him questioningly, pointing towards the hotel windows, and Loki sighs in exasperation.

"And no, you are far too young to go out by yourself," Loki says with an air of finality, and Thor can swear that he is looking into a set of infinite mirrors as Modi pouts, looking exactly like Loki.

* * *

><p>Thor wakes up in the early pre-dawn light to find Modi snuggled in between himself and Loki, curled up in a warm hollow between their bodies. One little arm is resting on Thor's chest, the little ribbon still tied to Mjolnir, who lies on her side on the floor.<p>

Thor smiles, winces as Modi kicks him straight in the ribs in his sleep, catches a little foot in one of his hands and marvelling at the small heel cradled in his palms.


	58. Bakku-shan

Written to: It's Not My Fault, I'm Happy - Passion Pit, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Bakku-shan: <strong>Someone, especially a woman, who only looks attractive from behind._

"Her name is Angrboda," Loki says, seemingly out of nowhere, watching Thor deflect Jörmungandr's seemingly harmless, curious nibbles at his fingers with the ease that only comes with centuries of deflecting such attacks. Jory's fangs have started to sharpen, good and proper now, and luckily for Modi and Thor, both of them seem to have impenetrable skin that make Jory's sharp nips feel like tiny, barely there pinches. Loki has had no such luck, and sports several bandages on his fingers for his troubles.

"Who is that?" Thor asks, still playing peek-a-boo with Modi. Jory thought it was an absolute childish game, something extremely fitting for the two large, pink objects in the room, and focused all his efforts on trying to bite through Thor's trousers instead.

"Jörmungandr's other parent." At the mention of his name, Jory turns his head quickly; his fangs get stuck in the coarse fabric of Thor's breeches and he squirms about, flailing, as he tries to dislodge himself. Thor picks him up by the neck and gently removes him; he gets a bite on his fingers for his efforts as he sets Jory down on the floor again.

"You do not have to tell me," Thor says, finally turning to face Loki. "It does not matter who it was, who they were, it is far in the past. They are still yours, and I can only love them for that."

Loki smiles, reaching down to scoop up Jory and receiving another bite on his arm. He glares at the baby snake, who cowers away and coils himself around Loki's wrist instead, soothing the puncture marks with little flicks of his forked tongue.

After a few moments of silence and thought, Thor turns back to Loki.

"Was she pretty?" he wants to know.

Loki grins as he remembers.

"No, not particularly," he says, and is pleased to see the flicker of a smile turn up the corners of Thor's mouth. "She was very pleasing from behind, though, I must say. But her face, oh dear," he says, laughing.

"I was rather in my cups that night, after our little dispute. I do not remember the exact details of it, but it was most likely something very silly; they usually are, with us. And, unfortunately, by the time I got around to her front side, it was too late."

Thor's laugh booms around the room, and Jory hisses at him from his perch wrapped around Loki's wrist. Loki pats his scaly head comfortingly.

"Surely it was an eye opening experience," Thor teases him, nudging Loki's foot with his own.

Loki grins. "Quite the contrary; I had to close my eyes quite tightly to get through the whole ordeal."

Thor smiles, rolling over onto the nursery carpet and picking Modi up, holding him above him amidst the baby's squeals of laughter. With tears of mirth in his eyes, he turns to Loki and says, quite seriously, "I'm rather happy to be blessed with a spouse who looks lovely from the back and the front."

Loki can only laugh and agree.


	59. Attaccabottoni

Written to: In Summer - Olaf (Josh Gad), Frozen OST. Crosspost from AO3. References to Chapter 56, "Ludic", and Chapter 46, "Oubliette."

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><p><em><strong>Attaccabottoni: <strong>Literally "button attacher;" a bore who 'buttonholes' you with long, uninvolved, and uninteresting tales of woe._

Byleistr wakes up a week or so later from his drunken stupor in the dungeons of Asgard, where he has been locked up for public indecency and showing himself to a minor (a vast quantity of minors, to be fair, but most of them had been looking past him to where Volstagg was in the process of trying to see how many drumsticks he could fit into his mouth).

He picks himself up, groans at the throb in his head as he stands up, brushes a few clumps of potted fern soil off of his shoulders. He casts around his cell, looking for something, anything, and finds himself suddenly face to face with a very deranged Malekith.

"Byleistr!" Malekith says in a delight that has his eyes lighting up red from the inside, much to Byleistr's horror. "I've been waiting centuries for you!"

And this most certainly was not true; Malekith had only been confined to the dungeons of Asgard for a few weeks while Idunn was in Svartalfheim, trying to plant some nice trees in the realm to puncture all the grey dismalness. She would return a few days later, unsuccessful, and would claim that the dark elves had hissed and spat and swore at her the first instant they caught sight of any sort of colour.

When Byleistr just stood there in shock, gaping at him and wondering what he had done to deserve such misfortune, Malekith sighed and toppled over onto the floor, proceeding to sob disconsolately.

"You're probably not even Byleistr," he pouts. "You're probably one of those silly demons that convert themselves to look like people that you desperately want to love. Or maybe I am finally going insane, that would be something, wouldn't it?"

Byleistr wanted to point out that he was fairly sure Malekith was already completely insane, but the Dark Elf proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs in despair.

"You would think that anybody would be delighted that the great ruler of Svartalfheim would want to make their acquaintance before having intimate relations with them," Malekith says, turning a tear-stained face back over to stare at Byleistr's boots. "But he didn't want to, can you imagine? He just wanted to skip straight ahead to the sex. I know it's probably very hard to imagine, you not being real and all that, but let me just tell you it was the single most devastating thing that has ever happened to me during my long life."

Byleistr starts to edge away, but the cell confines were rather small for two people, and Malekith reaches out and slaps a hand over the top of his right boot.

"Your shoes are very nice for an apparition," he muses, rubbing at the soft leather under his fingers. "We do not have such tender fabrics in Svartalfheim. But it is a much better realm than it was a few eons ago, under my realm. I am a very good ruler, you know."

Byleistr wants to tell Malekith that he wasn't capable of ruling any realm larger than a metal lunch tin, and even then that was questionable, but Malekith continues on his little tirade.

"So one night before I left, he was sleeping in his chambers and I snipped a little lock of his hair off. The most beautiful blue-black, smelling of ice and snow and blood, the most delicious aroma. Would you like to see it?"

Byleistr is horrified when Malekith reaches inside his shirt and pulls out an oval locket, snaps it open to reveal a little strand of dark hair.

"Smell," Malekith commands, shoving the locket towards him, and Byleistr tentatively reaches out and takes it from him, wondering if he can possibly break down the force field surrounding the cell. "He is a delightful being, Byleistr of Jotunheimr."

"Yes, I suppose he is," Byleistr says, feeling like he can do nothing but agree.

Malekith takes the locket back from him, tucks it carefully back inside the remnants of his shirt.

"Well, since you're just a figment of my demented mind, you might as well take a seat and listen. I feel we'll be in here for a good long while, and I have plenty of stories of my conquests and lost loves," Malekith tells him, quite cheerily.

At that moment, Helblindi taps past the cell, and Byleistr runs over to the wall, pounding on it; his older brother turns to face him and just gives him a cool, questioning stare as Malekith drags Byleistr back into the cell, sits him down against the furthest wall, and proceeds to regale him with the time of how he proclaimed himself the ruler of a small colony of meerkats.


	60. Quaintrelle

Written to: Tiptoe - Imagine Dragons, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Quaintrelle: <strong>A woman who emphasizes a life of passion, expressed through personal style, leisurely pastimes, charm, and cultivation of life's pleasures._

"What do you think about it?" Natasha asks, tossing a slew of cherry curls over her shoulder and leaning forward to allow Clint to finish lacing up the corset, slipping the silky ribbons through tiny holes and tugging tight. "It's a nice colour, don't you think?"

And because playtime has not started yet, because they aren't in character yet, Clint smiles, leans forward to press a kiss to a creamy shoulder.

"I like it a lot," he says, finishing the lacing with a neat little bow that ends right between her shoulder blades. "It looks very good on you. Although everything does."

"You sure know how to talk to a woman, don't you, Mr. Barton?" she teases, throwing him a glance over her shoulder. He smiles back at her.

"Maybe," he teases her right back, curling a tangle of red hair around his index finger and tugging gently. She watches him thread the strands through his fingers. "But maybe it's just because you're the only one who ever listens in."

She grins, gives him a little shove to the shoulder, pushes him back onto the bed, and just like that she goes from being just Natasha Romanov to something much more. Clint watches the transformation appreciatively, propping himself up on his elbows and admiring the way the corset hugs her slender curves, how the red lacings around the edges are the exact same shade as her hair, lets his eyes linger on the tiny garters that hold up her sheer silk stockings.

"And now?" she asks, her voice a dangerous, seductive purr as she slides herself up his body and splays her hands out over his chest. "Do I listen to you now?"

Clint swallows, his eyes caught by the way her tongue traces the swell of her lower lip.

"No, Mistress," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I listen to you."

Natasha smiles, her teeth gleaming in the low light of the bedroom.

"Yes, love, that is exactly right," she whispers as she sits up and reaches out to unbutton his pants.


	61. Borborygmi

Written to: Alone - Armin Van Buuren ft. Lauren Evans, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Borborygmi: <strong>The rumbling sounds that your stomach makes._

Thor comes back from great hunts laden down with animal skins and horns, scented with the joy of triumph and victory, a deep-rooted bloodlust sated and satisfied. He comes home, promptly tosses the pelts and bones into a room haphazardly (and Loki has already told him to please try and organise them, but of course Thor never heeds this advice), and traipses through the halls of Asgard, in search of Loki.

"I am positively famished," he tells Loki as he pins Loki to the bed, and Loki can even hear the growlings of thunder prowling about under Thor's skin.

"I am not a ham for you to stuff into your mouth," Loki protests, but his words are cut off by a sharp gasp as Thor leans down and bites at the soft skin of his neck, sucking at the sweet flesh he finds there. "Those particular hams are in the kitchen," he continues as Thor pushes aside the shoulders of Loki's robes and captures a dusky nipple between his teeth, twisting a soft whimper from Loki's throat.

"Hush, love," Thor mutters, biting kisses into the taut skin pulled across the hollows of Loki's hips. "I wish to have you first; if you do not stop moving, I may get careless and begin to eat you up, instead."

Loki wants to point out that the bites Thor is nibbling into his skin will leave confusingly telltale marks, the ones on his neck in particular, for everybody to see. Thor just smiles up at him - more innocently than he has any right to - and tells Loki that he is far too delicious of a treat to pass up.

Loki has another sharp, biting retort on the tip of his tongue when Thor suddenly opens his mouth and swallows Loki down.

Loki gasps, tossing his head back against the soft pillows of their bed, twisting his hands into the silky sheets underneath him to try to ground himself. Thor's throat closes around him in rhythmic swallows, his tongue massaging across velvety, heated skin, teasing, tantalising, tasting and lapping up the clear stickiness Loki's cock is beginning to leak into his mouth. One of Thor's hands is splayed out over Loki's abdomen, the other in between Loki's legs, fingers circling delicately around Loki's twitching entrance.

Loki sighs, half in frustration, half in pleasure, as Thor teases him, and finally snaps at Thor that he ought to hurry up and eat faster. Thor gives him a little smile, as best he can with his mouth stuffed full, and scrapes his teeth lightly against the skin of Loki's cock as he pulls off him with a short pop, lips cherry red and glistening.

"Why, fairest?" Thor wants to know, his hot breath ghosting against Loki's aching erection; Loki cants his hips forward, and Thor just gives a little laugh and pins his hips down to the bed. "You have always been one to hound me about not eating so quickly."

Loki grinds his teeth in frustration.

* * *

><p>An hour or so later, when Loki is just drifting off to sleep amidst a delicious haze of soreness, he is rudely awoken up by a very loud rumble of thunder close to his head. He jolts out of his doze, instantly alert, looks over his shoulder at Thor, who is fast asleep, an arm slung carelessly, heavily over Loki's waist.<p>

As Loki stares at him, he hears the loud rumble of thunder, which trails off into a little whine and hiccup at the end. Thor mutters something in his sleep about hams and chickens in great quantities, and Loki just snorts, lies back down, and pulls the pillows over his head to try and muffle the noises of Thor's growling stomach beside him.


	62. Sciamachy

Written to: Let It Go (Frozen) by Disney/Pixar Characters - Brian Hull, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Sciamachy: <strong>A battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadow._

Thor is still half asleep when he hears a strange voice coming from the nursery, one that he doesn't recognise. He jolts awake, blinking the sleep from his eyes and squinting in the bright morning sunlight that is streaming in through the windows. Loki's side of the bed is empty, the hollow where he's slept still warm and cosy against Thor's hand as he pats at the mattress to feel.

But that voice can most definitely not be Loki, Thor thinks as he races to the nursery, his mouth dry and heart pounding as he bangs into the room, ready to face whatever foe has intruded upon his family.

Much to his vast surprise, Loki is sitting in the armchair by Modi's bassinet, cradling Modi in his arms and tickling him with long fingers. Thor watches in bemusement as Loki speaks again, his voice deep and raspy as he growls to Modi that he has such sharp teeth because they are all the better to eat him up with.

"Loki...?" Thor asks tentatively, his fingers ready to twitch for Mjolnir at any sign of Modi's distress. Modi just laughs and pats at Loki's face with tiny fingers.

Loki looks up as Thor enters, smiling at him, and Thor smiles back hesitantly, still unsure.

"What is it?" Loki asks, and that is most definitely Loki's voice, silver and light, but Thor walks over anyway and examines Loki closely, from the hazel flecks in his deep green eyes to the little beauty mark resting at the corner of his mouth, trying to make sure that it is indeed him.

"What are you doing?" Loki repeats patiently, and Modi babbles up at his father. "Do you think you are still in dreams? Is that what this is?"

Thor glances at him suspiciously, but Modi seems to be having a grand time and nothing seems particularly remiss; he relaxes incrementally and tells Loki that he had heard a strange voice in the nursery and just wanted to make sure that there were no intruders in the castle.

Loki rolls his eyes, tells Modi that his papa is really quite moronic, before turning to Thor and telling him that it might be wise to make sure he is wearing pants before he goes charging to face any potential attackers. Thor looks down, sees that Loki is quite right, and blushes furiously as he dashes out of the nursery amidst the sounds of Loki's laughter.


	63. Gumusservi

Crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Gumusservi: <strong>Moonlight shining on water._

"What do you think about the Caribbean?" Thor asks, tossing a honeymoon catalogue Loki's way. Modi had just begun to crawl, and insisted on wobbling all over the nursery and castle, wearing paths in the soft nursery carpet and always somehow managing to be underfoot when anyone was carrying a heavy pot of soup. Of course, once they tripped over him and splattered the soup all over themselves, he would just giggle and crawl away, much to the chagrin of many a cook in the Asgardian kitchens.

"What about the Caribbean do you like?" Loki says, picking up the catalogue and poring over it. "What is your fascination with the sea or large bodies of water?"

Modi looks at a fat stack of catalogues sitting by Loki's thigh, decides that it would make a good tower to climb on top of, and proceeds to slip and slide all over the glossy pages. Loki runs a hand through his son's unruly blonde curls absentmindedly.

"I have always wanted to travel on a ship," Thor says, "and not for my final voyage into Valhalla, you know the one, where they toss your body on a boat and set you off into the sea and then shoot flaming arrows at you. I know that's the way it's been for thousands of years, but I for one am reluctant to have that be my first and only voyage on a sea vessel."

Loki snorts, rolls his eyes, and continues flipping through magazine catalogues. He has to admit that the Caribbean does look rather nice, with its big white cruise ships named after English queens sailing through aquamarine water that cupped the full moon amidst its soft swells during the night. And the white beaches, and the sand, and Loki figures he could probably get gorgeously tanned without getting burnt too badly. Helblindi had given him a few bottles of a Midgardian concoction called sunscreen, SPF 45, which he claimed had protected his jötunn skin very well from Midgard's harsh climates.

Loki could envision it already, the sweet, salty smell of the water while he sat on a lovely sandy beach and sipped pink drinks with umbrellas...

And then Thor rudely butted into his vision again, tossing another catalogue his way. This one was for sailing around the frozen seas of Jotunheimr.

Loki snorts, a definite no, and gives the catalogue to Modi to add to his slide.


	64. Cordiform

Written to: I Won't Give Up - Jason Mraz, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Cordiform: <strong>Heart-shaped._

"Loki, love, did you know this?" Thor asks, flipping through the pages of a book. This surprises Loki to no end, as he enters the bedroom from his bath, his hair dripping over his shoulders and a towel wrapped around his waist. He hasn't seen Thor pick up a volume in centuries, and from the looks of it, this one doesn't even have coloured pictures. Quite a vast improvement over the last one Thor read, which, as Loki recalled, involved a giant strawberry and a mouse.

"Know what?" Loki asks, turning his back to Thor and rooting through their armoire for a clean nightshirt to wear. Thor admires the view as Loki allows the towel to slip to the floor.

"There are some Midgardian theories that a heart shape originated from the appearance of a female bending over and presenting her bottom."

Loki shoots Thor a glance over his shoulder, rolls his eyes, wonders what exactly Thor can possibly be reading.

Thor clears his throat.

"This is the part where you bend over and present your bottom to me," he clarifies, and even from here, Loki can feel the heat of Thor's gaze on the small of his back.

Loki sighs, and because Thor has that absentminded smile on his face, the one he gets whenever he is thinking about something that he should most definitely not be thinking about, obliges.

Thor looks from Loki back to the book, back to Loki again, and thinks that perhaps Midgardians are more clever than he had given them credit for.


	65. Retrouvaille

Written to: Best Friend - Toy Box, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Retrouvaille: <strong>The joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation; rediscovery._

"Don't you remember me?" Steve asks, his face equally as distressed as Modi's wailing visage. Thor had deposited Modi with Steve so he and Loki could go on their long-overdue honeymoon in the Caribbean - well, if anyone really asked, Steve had asked for Modi to be deposited with him, he adored the baby so.

Modi did not appear to like this change and squirmed in Steve's arms, trying to get down on the floor, twisting his face in distress and flailing his little limbs around in a search for Loki or Thor. He wasn't quite sure he liked this big blue person with the big red letter on his face.

"It's me, your uncle Steve!" Steve said, bouncing Modi up and down in his lap. He had thought that Modi might enjoy seeing him in full Captain outfit - didn't babies like that sort of thing? And surely his costume was not as scary to a child as Tony's was, with all those electronic gadgets and the shoulder missile launchers and such. Not that he trusted Tony with a child. For Pepper's sake, Steve hoped that that fact would soon change.

"Maybe you're hungry?" Steve asks Modi; of course, Modi cannot tell him anything relevant. "Would you like some potatoes?" Loki had said that Modi enjoyed potatoes to a great extent, but not even the mention of the tuber could bring a smile to the baby's red face.

Modi thrashes and wriggles in Steve's arms, sobbing inconsolably.

Steve eyes him carefully. "Are you tired?" he asks, but Modi just continues to cry. "Maybe you're tired." Steve shifts Modi to a shoulder, pats his back soothingly, tries to calm him down, but this only puts Modi's mouth closer to his ear and has the effect of half deafening him. Steve puts him back on his lap.

"Your papa brought you some toys," Steve says, putting Modi on the floor. The baby sniffles, rubs his eyes with tiny fists, and pouts at the little activity table Thor had set up for him (with the help of Mjolnir) on the floor. He picks up a wooden block, bangs it against the table halfheartedly, before beginning to cry again.

Steve sighs, reaches up, tugs off his mask and rubs a hand over his face, wondering what he can possibly do to stop the crying. Bruce had holed himself up in the laboratory a few hours ago, and Clint and Natasha were nowhere to be seen. Tony had vacated the premises the instant Modi had started to sob, claiming something about an international business meeting, even though Steve knew there was nothing of the sort.

Steve is so used to the crying that he doesn't realise that it's stopped until Modi hiccups.

He takes his hand away from his face, looks down at the baby, who hiccups again and begins to smile up at him toothlessly.

"Are you alright now?" Steve asks incredulously, leaning forward and wiping away some stray tears. Modi giggles and chomps down on his finger with a surprising amount of strength, and Steve is grateful for the fact that the baby does not yet have teeth.

"Thank goodness," Steve says, smiling in relief and patting Modi's blonde head, watching as he begins to slam blocks into his tray table with vigour and enthusiasm.


	66. Mudita

Written to: German Love - STRFKR, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Mudita: <strong>Sympathetic, vicarious joy; happiness rather than resentment at someone else's well-being or good fortune; the opposite of schadenfreude._

Thor tosses a glance at Loki over his shoulder as the warm salty waves of the Caribbean Sea laps up around his waist, grins back at Loki, who is sitting on the beach and sipping a tasty drink from a tall glass with a frilly umbrella hooked over the lip.

Thor waves at Loki to join him, but Loki staunchly refuses to budge, his limbs already perfectly slathered with 45 SPF sunscreen and his body wedged under a large beach umbrella to protect himself from the sun's rays. He flips through the pages of some hideously written Midgardian romance novel and tries to keep the sand from blowing into his eyes with one hand as he sips his Mai Tai.

"I can see you perfectly well from here," Loki calls back, swatting away a little crab that has crawled up to his blanket and pinching at his foot curiously, wondering what he can possibly be. The crab glares at him - if crabs could glare - and scuttles away, burrowing back into the sand an inch from Loki's leg. Loki holds the book aloft, waiting for the foul beast to resurface so he can smack it into the afterlife.

Thor is absolutely not convinced, holds aloft the trident that Poseidon had lent to him for a few days, sends a giant wave crashing straight into Loki, washing away the horrendous Midgardian romance (which was, all things considered, quite a relief) and knocking over several sandcastles, sending twenty or so small children running to their mothers with tears in their eyes.

Loki, much against his better wishes, is swept back out to sea; Thor catches him as he is bobbing past, clutching the remains of the beach umbrella. Once he is quite sure Loki has found stable footing in the wet sand underfoot, Thor splashes him with a vast quantity of water that gets everywhere, drenching Loki's hair and getting in his eyes and mouth. Loki frowns, closes his eyes and rubs the salt out, spits out the briny water directly into Thor's face and is vastly displeased when Thor begins to laugh.

"You are not very nice," Loki says, pouting more for the fact that that is the only retort he can come up with. "I was having a good time just reading and sitting on the beach."

Thor smiles, grasps Loki by the waist, the trident clutched firmly in the other hand. "Yes, but I wished to have a good time with you. Would you like to explore the depths of the sea, fairest? The trident can take us places, much like Mjolnir."

Before Loki has a chance to respond, Thor takes him firmly by the wrist and dives further out into the water, tugging Loki along beside him into the depths. Loki sighs, takes a deep breath and holds it, and tries not to smile as he watches Thor's wonder at the coral reefs and tropical fish swimming underneath their feet.


	67. Hoppipolla

Hoppipolla is a song by Sigur Ros, as well, and it's pretty good. You should go give it a listen.

Written to: Flashback - Calvin Harris, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Hoppipolla: <strong>Jumping into puddles._

Steve certainly hopes that Thor and Loki are having a good time sailing around the West Indies. A few days after they left, when it was time for Steve to put Modi down to sleep for the night, the baby had squirmed around and started to whimper, looking around for his mama or his papa. Steve was a good person to be with, to be sure, but Modi, of course, had to wonder where his parents were, and didn't seem to comprehend the idea of a honeymoon, and certainly not one without him.

"Your mama and papa are in the Caribbean," Steve had tried to explain hundreds of times over, but Modi kept looking around and pouting and whimpering until he finally managed to cry himself into an exhausted sleep. By that time, Steve was far too tired to get up to go to his own room, and had fallen asleep in the armchair by the crib. Tony had teased him to no end once the engineer discovered a sleeping Steve, his head pillowed on his hand, sitting slumped over in the chair while Modi shook his silver rattle furiously and screamed at the tall blonde person to hurry up and feed him already.

After the first fifteen minutes, Tony had come in to see what all the ruckus was about, had seen Steve, and had been teasing him ever since.

It had begun to rain outside, and the deluge didn't seem ready to stop anytime soon. Modi seems to be comforted by the silver streaks of rain rolling down the window by his bassinet, and pats at the window with tiny hands, leaving little fingerprint smudges all over the glass as he babbles at the storm outside. Steve wonders if it is because the rain reminds him of his father.

Modi laughs, claps his hands as a strike of thunder crashes outside, the lightning bolt lighting up his face a few moments later. He points out the window, looks at Steve questioningly, slaps against the glass.

"Do you want to go outside?" Steve asks, and he can swear Modi nods. "It's raining now, you might get sick."

Modi frowns at him - and how can Steve not be reminded of Loki, it's impossible, with that expression - and points out the window again, demanding.

"You can't even walk."

Modi rolls his eyes, puffs out his cheeks, and Steve swears that babies are not supposed to be doing that, not even Asgardian ones, as Modi floats out of his crib and over to the door. Modi flings out a little arm, pointing outside, and Steve sighs, rubs his eyes and hopes that he is still dreaming, before walking over and opening the balcony doors for him.

As he steps outside, Modi's little hand firmly clasped in his own, Steve is gladdened to find that the rain is a warm summer rain, painting their skin with softness. Modi floats himself down directly into a puddle, dragging Steve along with him, and Steve sighs but obliges, sitting down firmly in the puddle that has gathered on the balcony floor.

"You like the water?" Steve asks, but Modi doesn't answer. He is far too entranced with splashing at the water around him and giggling as his blonde curls grow damp and fall into his face.

Steve sits back, watches Modi splashing away with a smile on his face.

* * *

><p>Later that night, after Steve has bathed and fed and clothed Modi again, the baby falls asleep without a fuss, exhausted.<p>

Steve yawns, stretches, thinks that perhaps tonight he'll be able to make it back to his bed.

He doesn't, and the next morning, Tony just smirks at Steve's sleeping form, picks up Modi, and carries him to the kitchen to feed him.


	68. Oculoplania

Written to: She's So High - Tal Bachman, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Oculoplania: <strong>Letting your eyes wander to assess someone's "charms."_

If anyone were to ask, Thor was most definitely not trying to bore a hole in the thick film of bubbles that coated the bath water. If anyone asked, he was most certainly not trying to look underneath the foam to where Loki's long, sleek limbs lay in the warm water.

Thor looks at Loki's face, his eyes covered with thin slices of cucumber. Thor had absolutely no idea what Loki was going on about with the vegetable rounds, but decided it was probably better not to ask, and had instead decided to clamber into the tub with Loki instead, sloshing bubbly water all over the tiled floor of the suite's bathroom. Loki's head rest on the edge of the tub, and he obligingly slid loose legs over to the side so Thor could fit into the large whirlpool tub as well.

Thor snatches a look at Loki, whose head is still tilted back, a glass of Midgardian wine held in loose fingers, the bubbles coming up to the hollow of his throat. He decides that Loki cannot possibly know, cannot possibly see past the green slices of cucumber, and begins to comb at the water with his fingers.

He gathers bubbles up in his hands, and for a better place to put them, pulls them all to his side of the tub; the foam comes up to his chin as he draws the slick bubbles towards him in long, shallow strokes, so as not to clue Loki in as to what he is doing. Once he is sufficiently satisfied that the water is clear enough for him to see, Thor takes a good, long look at Loki's delicate limbs, soft and relaxed and rippling underneath the water's surface.

His eyes trace over Loki's chest, the soft lines of his stomach, linger at the junction of his thighs where his cock lies, quiet, resting, against a leg.

And, apparently, his gaze is penetrating enough to catch Loki's attention from beneath the cucumbers; Loki reaches up, picks the cucumbers off his face, and looks up to find Thor with a foam beard staring very intently into the water at him.

Loki rolls his eyes, reaches out and pulls Thor's hand (and, once again, if anyone were to ask, Thor had most certainly not had the intention of touching), and places it gently over his cock before leaning his head back again and closing his eyes with a smile as Thor begins to stroke.


	69. Commuovere

_**Commuovere: **To stir, to touch, to move to tears. _

"This has been a rather long overdue celebration, dearest," Thor says, wrapping an arm around Loki and looking out over the railing of the balcony at the soft waves lapping up on the beach a scant few feet from their hotel suite. "However, I would dare to say that it is a well deserved one. I can hardly remember what this is like, just the two of us, like this. Modi is constantly chattering away or demanding something for it to be quiet for too long."

Loki smiles, sips at a glass of champagne, feeling the bubbles tickle at his throat as he feels the cool salt breeze against his skin. He reaches up, laces his fingers with Thor's.

"Yes, it is very quiet," he agrees, but right as he says that, a bonfire lights up on the beach and casts flickering orange light around a group of revelers who begin to cheer and toast each other with red party cups held aloft. Loki laughs and snuggles into Thor's side as the wind picks up and sends showers of sparks from the flames cascading into the sand. "I spoke too soon, it seems."

Thor massages the small of Loki's back as they watch the people on the beach dance drunkenly around the flames.

"I love you," Loki says suddenly, and even though it is very dim, even though Thor can barely see five feet in front of him, he can make out the blush on Loki's face as he says this.

And because this is so unexpected, because Loki rarely - if ever - says his emotions explicitly, Thor just smiles and waits a few moments to allow the tears that have risen up behind his eyeballs to subside before leaning over to press a kiss to Loki's jaw.


	70. Sillage

_**Sillag_e_: **The scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; the trace of someone's perfume._

Thor wakes up one sunny Caribbean morning to find Loki gone, the mattress beside him curled into a long, soft hollow where Loki's body has rested in his sleep, his back pressed up right against Thor's chest.

He reaches over, sleepily brings Loki's pillow to his face and smells sandalwood and lemon, like the shampoo that comes in those little bottles that Loki says are not nearly enough to keep his hair up to standards. Smells a soft musk that only comes to Loki when he sleeps next to Thor and perfumes his skin.

He rolls over sleepily, stretching and rubbing his eyes as the birds chirp outside the window and the surf laps up against the sand just a few feet away. Yawning, Thor stands up, walks over to the window, pushes aside filmy white curtains to look outside.

Much to his vast surprise, Thor finds Loki waist deep in the aquamarine water, the waves pooling and rippling around him on their way to the beach. He has his hair done up in a messy bun, the ends of which are already dripping from errant sprays of surf, and he picks his way carefully through the water, letting the foam and the bubbles spill and trace eager paths around his waist.

Loki stops for a moment, bending down a bit to look into the water, and Thor opens his mouth to warn him of the incoming wave. Unfortunately, his warning comes far too late, and right as Loki reaches into the water to pick up something in the wet sand at his feet, a wave comes crashing straight down on his head. Thor stifles a laugh as Loki comes up a few seconds later, spluttering brine and rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, looking more than a bit disgruntled.

He hides quickly behind the curtains the instant Loki's head begins to turn back in his direction, hurriedly gets back into the bed and rolls the blankets haphazardly over him the instant he sees Loki trudging back towards the hotel, his feet leaving small hollows in the white sand.

Thor has his eyes tightly closed and his breathing in some semblance of deep sleep when Loki reenters the room. He can feel Loki's gaze on him, bites the inside of his cheek to keep a smile from reaching his face, smells the sharp tang of salt and sandalwood and Loki as Loki leans over him, dripping seawater onto the blankets as he reaches over Thor to place something on the nightstand.

The instant Thor hears Loki's footsteps recede into the bathroom, the instant he hears the taps for the shower turn on, he opens his eyes, looks at the perfectly formed conch shell on the nightstand, and allows himself to smile.


	71. Verklempt

Written to: Skinny Love - Bon Iver, crosspost from AO3. It's my birthday tomorrow.

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><p><em><strong>Verklempt: <strong>Completely overcome with emotion._

Modi is grateful for the day that Loki and Thor come to fetch him back from the Avengers tower, looking gloriously tanned with necklaces of bright red and white flowers draped around their necks. Yes, Steve - that was what the big blonde man called himself, but Modi thought it was a very odd sounding name - was an adequate substitute for his papa, except he couldn't fly and didn't have a big hammer to take Modi flying around the city. And Modi missed his mama something fierce, and was more than delighted to see Loki walking through the door.

So excited is he the minute he sees Loki's face appear over the couch, that he pushes himself away from Steve and the bowl of mashed potatoes he is waving enticingly in front of Modi's mouth. Loki grins, bends down and opens his arms for Modi to crawl into them.

Much to Loki's surprise, Modi pushes himself up onto his feet, wobbles towards him unsteadily, trips over a corner of the rug and topples over in a little heap on the carpet. Loki holds his breath, waiting for the wails to begin, but Modi just looks at the ground with a determined look on his face, chews on his lip, and pushes himself back up.

"Oh, nine skies," Loki breathes, holding out a hand for Modi to latch on to, tears building up behind his eyes and choking in his throat. "When did you learn how to do this, sweetling?"

Modi takes the final few steps towards Loki at a tilting, wobbly run, giggling as he burrows his face into the hollow of Loki's neck.

Thor comes into the tower living room, juggling duffel bags and souvenirs from hand to hand, comes upon Loki crying silently into their son's shoulder. At first, Thor can't recognise the tiny blonde child Loki is cradling in his arms (Steve had taken it upon himself to give Modi a haircut, and Modi's short blonde curls corkscrewed out at weird angles and lengths. Steve was a superhero, not a super hairdresser, not by any means).

Once Thor recognises the child as Modi, he wonders if Loki is crying because Modi's hair contained some magical powers like in that one movie with that blonde girl with the ridiculously long hair Loki had forced him to watch. And then Thor looks - really looks - and sees that for the first time Modi is standing. Really, truly standing, his two little feet planted firmly on the ground.

Thor gives a great roar of delight, sweeps Loki and Modi up into his arms, and dives out the nearest window. Steve just stares after the Asgardians, mouth agape, mashed potatoes slowly falling over the edge of the spoon onto the carpet. They couldn't fly, could they? Steve wondered. Not without Mjolnir -

Just as Steve thinks that, he turns and ducks just in time as Mjolnir joyfully goes whizzing over his head to follow Thor. She missed the window the first time - and the second, and the third, and just for good measure smashed the rest of the bulletproof windows on that floor before plummeting after Thor.


	72. Naology

Written to: Constant Conversations - Passion Pit, crosspost from AO3. Happy Birthday to me - 19y/o, and patiently waiting for my starter shipment of cats to begin my quest for the crazy cat lady title.

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><p><em><strong>Naology: <strong>The study of sacred buildings._

"This is sacrilegious," Loki hisses as Thor lifts him up onto the altar. "I don't even know what manner of animals have been killed on this thing."

Thor rolls his eyes as he frees himself of his breeches and clambers up on top of Loki, pressing him against the cold stone of the Asgardian chapel's altar. "Probably lots of things, love," he says with a grin as he begins to unlace Loki's trousers. "Here, sit up, I can place my cloak under you so that your precious skin won't become stained by the ghostly blood of sacrifices past."

Loki snorts, but sits up and allows Thor to spread his scarlet cape out over the cold stone before lying back down.

"That does nothing to change the fact that you have forcibly dragged me here to engage in licentious activities," Loki mutters, but he can't stop the blush that begins to creep across his face as Thor taps two thick fingers against his lips, as he opens his mouth obediently to roll his tongue around the pair of digits to coat them.

"Think of it as a study," Thor says, grinning mischievously at Loki as he reaches underneath him and gently works his fingers into him.

"A study?" Loki wants to laugh, but it gets choked off in a moan. "A study in what, exactly?"

"A study in the sturdiness of Asgardian sacrificial altars," Thor clarifies, hitching one of Loki's legs over his shoulder and pressing hot, velvet, rough into him. Loki bites at the back of his hand to stifle a cry as Thor bottoms out in him. "Midgard does not have these. They merely have those pools of water. Perhaps they drown their sacrifices in them."

Loki flushes hot, remembering the incident at the Vatican fifty or so years ago. The pope, upon finding them with entangled limbs in the baptismal font, had passed out and smacked his head rather hard against the tile. Thor had been rather concerned about the old man, but Loki had dragged them out of the chapel, cloaks dripping, telling a passing archbishop that the pope appeared to have fainted.

Loki sighs, shudders against Thor as Thor rocks deep into him, pressing kisses to Loki's inner knee.

"This is ridiculous," he says, laughing breathily as pleasure shudders up his spine. "Absolutely, positively ridiculous."

Thor grins, leans down to press a kiss to Loki's mouth, and agrees.


	73. Serendipity

Written to: To The Beginning - The Workday Release, crosspost from AO3. Thanks for the birthday wishes :)

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><p><em><strong>Serendipity: <strong>Finding something good without looking for it._

Modi had become more confident in his limited walking abilities, perhaps a bit too confident, as the numerous scrapes on his elbows and knees have proven. And, unfortunately, Modi had Thor's stubbornness, and insisted on walking and toddling everywhere, even if it meant clinging to Frigga's expensive draperies and tearing them off the curtain rods in his attempts to keep his balance. Frigga only smiled in exasperation and brought out the white cotton draperies she'd used when Thor was still just a child.

Jörmungandr, though unable to walk, often enjoyed joining Modi on his adventures through the halls of Asgard, riding along on Modi's shoulder or curled around his wrist.

Loki loses his children one afternoon, waking up from a short-lived and much-deserved nap the instant he hears the door to the nursery click closed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes hurriedly, frowns at his heavy limbs as he jolts out of the chair and runs over to the door, opening it only to see Jory's smug expression from the baby serpent's position facing backwards on Modi's shoulder.

"Oh, Norns," Loki mutters, as he hurries after them. And Loki would like to believe that it is because the hall's distance is much farther than anyone expected, that it isn't because he is somewhat out of shape and unused to pursuing fast creatures, that he is out of breath once he reaches the corner.

He frowns. Modi and Jory are nowhere to be seen, and he sighs, pinching at his temples and wondering if the Midgardians practice of tethering their children to leashes and backpacks was really as stupid as he had once presumed.

* * *

><p>Modi giggles into his hand as he sees his mama's feet pass by the curtain he and Jory are hidden under, tapping by quickly, searching.<p>

He peeks out from behind the curtain, Jory's face by his own, the snake's beady eyes searching for Loki's retreating form. Once the two are satisfied that Loki is nowhere in the general vicinity, Modi toddles out from behind the fabric and off in a different direction.

Jory points with his tail at an open doorway, and Modi, attracted by the sunlight streaming through it, wriggles through the slightly ajar door, his eyes widening in delight as the two are shuttled out into a vast green garden with huge trees and golden orbs.

Jory slithers down from Modi's shoulder, making a small pathway in the grass as he wriggles over to a fallen golden sphere on the ground, flickers his little tongue out against it before unhinging his jaws wide and biting into it, making two small puncture marks. Modi walks over, curious, bending down and toppling over onto Jory as he attempts to pick up the golden ball. Jory hisses at him, but there is no real malice behind the noise as the baby snake continues to lick at the small holes he has made in the golden surface, from which a clear liquid is leaking.

Modi gnaws on the ball he holds in his hands, careful not to bite down on Jory's head, and pouts when he cannot make a hole in the surface. He turns to look around him, picks up a little rock, and smashes it against the ball. This time, the yellow thing cracks and dents a little bit, the golden surface peeling back to reveal soft yellow-white skin that leaks out sticky juice onto Modi's fingers. Modi sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking, his grin growing at the sweetness.

* * *

><p>Idunn finds the two little princes asleep in her gardens as she goes through her evening rounds, surrounded by a little circle of dented apples. She smiles, bends down to scoop the two of them up, and returns to the castle.<p> 


	74. Murr-ma

Written to: The Bird and the Worm - Owl City, crosspost from AO3

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><p><strong><em>Murr-ma: <em>**_To walk along in the water searching for something with your feet._

"Oh, forget about it," Darcy calls out to Helblindi, but Helblindi pays no attention, wading out further into the Atlantic Ocean and privately thinking that the temperature of the water is quite nice. Darcy, on the other hand, refuses to get anywhere near the surf and spray of the water, claiming the 10C water is far too cold; to Helblindi, it feels like a nice relaxing bath. "I can get you another one! Come out, already, you're going to catch your death of frostbite."

Helblindi snorts, wading waist deep into the ocean, searching for the necklace Darcy had bought for him, searching with his toes for the sleek metal clasp that had taken it upon itself to shatter at the slightest provocation. He is so far unsuccessful, his feet meeting the solid comfort of wet sand, the sharp coldness of seashells, the slimy wet of kelp.

"It's just a necklace!" Darcy shouts from the shore, and Helblindi reluctantly turns to march his footsteps back towards her.

"Why is it so important to you?" Darcy pouts, rubbing her hands together to warm them up, blowing on them with lips that are turning blue at the edges. Helblindi wants to reach out, rub her hands together with his own, but his own hands are probably colder than hers at the present moment. "It was just a cheap necklace, and it irritated your skin. Look, you still have the rash," she says, reaching up to rub at his neck where the silver had rubbed against his skin; her hands feel blessedly warm against his skin. "You're freezing."

"It's important to me," Helblindi says as he towels himself off, reaches for his clothes. "Because you got it for me, and I shouldn't have lost it."

He doesn't see her blush.

When he turns back around to her, her lips are no longer blue at the edges, and she tosses a strand of kelp at him. A bulb lands smack in the middle of his throat as the seaweed wraps itself around his shoulders. Darcy laughs.

"There, I gave that to you, too, so are you going to keep it?" she asks, teasing.

Helblindi smiles a bit, reaches behind himself to knot the seaweed together, arranges it so the bulbs dance across his collarbones.

"Yes, of course," he says, teasing back and grinning as he walks over to wrap an arm around her.

* * *

><p>Later that night, after Darcy falls asleep with a half drunk mug of hot chocolate on her nightstand, Helblindi reaches behind himself, unties the knot of seaweed, and places the strand of kelp in his nightstand drawer carefully.<p>

Darcy snuggles up to his thigh, mumbling something about cold and winter, and Helblindi smiles and ruffles a hand through her hair.


	75. Defenestrate

Written to: West Coast Friendship - Owl City, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Defenestrate: <strong>To throw someone or something out of the window._

Mealtimes were always a struggle for Loki. Sleipnir was easy enough, he just grazed outside in the pastures with the other horses, none of which seemed to mind the fact that he had four extra legs. In fact, if anyone were to ask exactly what the other horses thought of Sleipnir and his extra appendages, not a single one of them would reply because they were horses and did not concern themselves with such trivial matters as number of legs.

Jörmungandr and Modi were different stories, however.

Jory was partial to little scraps of meat and peas. Modi despised peas. Absolutely despised them.

"You really must eat vegetables, green things, like peas," Loki pleads, holding out a little plastic spoon of peas and mashed potatoes for Modi. Modi sniffs at the offering, licks all around the spoon, lapping up the creamy potatoes and leaving the peas to roll off the spoon onto his tray table, bouncing onto the floor.

"Don't eat those, they're dirty," Loki says, catching Jory by the neck just as the little snake is about to dive off the table after the peas. "I'll get you some more."

Thor sits down beside Loki, a giant ham in front of him. "Hello, loves," he says joyfully. Jory launches himself at the ham, embeds his fangs deep inside the meat, and Thor pries him loose cheerfully, setting him back down on the table.

"Here," Loki says in frustration, pushing the bowl of mashed potatoes and peas towards Thor. "You feed him. He does not want to eat."

Thor moves over to where Modi is sitting, holds aloft a heaping spoon of potatoes and peas.

"No, no, no, you big oaf," Loki says, taking the spoon from him and tapping half of it back into the bowl. "That's far too much, he'll choke."

Thor rolls his eyes, presents the significantly smaller spoonful of food for Modi's inspection. Modi turns his nose up at it.

"Aaaahhh, say aaahhh," Thor says, holding the spoon and making noises like an Æsir battleship. Modi is not amused.

Thor gives a little shrug, sets the bowl and spoon in front of Modi, and turns back to his ham. Modi looks at his bowl, takes up the spoon clumsily, and licks at the mashed potatoes, spitting out the peas as he goes along. Soon enough, there aren't any more potatoes in his bowl, and he pouts at it while Jory watches the fat pink thing reject the best part of his meal.

Unfortunately, Jory and Modi aren't on the same page; the instant Thor's back is turned, Modi picks up his bowl, launches it with an arm Thor would be proud of towards the window. At this exact same instant, Jory darts towards the bowl, hooks himself inside the rim, and dives headfirst into the delightful peas, making not even a sound as he and the bowl are tossed unceremoniously through the window, landing in a soft patch of grass beneath the windowsill a few moments later.

Loki returns to the table with a plate of food for himself, looks suspiciously at Modi, who just smiles sweetly at him. Jory is nowhere to be seen.

"Where's your brother?" Loki asks Modi, examining him closely, even making him open his mouth to inspect inside. "Have you finished all your peas?"

Modi nods, stuffing his fist in his mouth in gleeful triumph. Loki, much too preoccupied with trying to find Jory, doesn't detect the lie, and instead pats Modi on the head and tells him he shall fetch him some chocolate pudding.


	76. Apricate

Written to: Come On, Get Higher - Matt Nathanson, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Apricate: <strong>To bask in the sun._

Frigga smiles down at her two little charges as she spreads out a blanket on the soft grass, sets a picnic basket down on top of it. Modi clings to her long skirt, his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth as he looks out over the rolling hills of Asgard. Jory, from his perch atop Modi's head, looks down at the domain and flicks his tongue in distaste. It is far too colourful and bright and cheerful for the little snake's tastes.

"What do you think, little princes?" Frigga asks the two of them. "Do you like what you see? One day this will be yours. Not for a very long time, of course," she says, straightening up and watching Thor weaving dandelions into Loki's hair a few yards away. "The big princes have their turn first."

"Of course," Frigga says, laughing behind her hand, "you might have your turn sooner than you think, if your mama and papa drive each other crazy before too long." Thor has accidentally gotten Loki's hair tangled in Mjolnir's bindings, and is desperately trying to extricate the shaft as quickly as possible without Loki noticing.

"But you don't like ruling very much, do you?" Frigga asks her two little grandsons. Jory is curled around Modi's wrist, flicking at the air contentedly, and Modi has already crawled over to the centre of the blanket and has begun rooting through the picnic basket, tossing sandwiches and hams onto the side. Frigga picks them up and packs them back into the basket. "Oh, no, you two just want to have fun and play in the fields all day long. That's what little princes like to do, don't they?"

Modi finds what he is looking for, a little bowl of grapes, and sits down on a corner of the blanket, plucking grapes off the bunch and stuffing them in his mouth. He turns to look at Frigga, his cheeks bulging with fruit, and gives her a little smile, showing off his brand new front teeth. Frigga smiles, reaches over and pinches his cheek.

"Ba?" Modi asks, holding a grape out to Jory. "Ba?"

Jory is completely uninterested in the grape Modi is offering him, and ignores him, turning his head towards the afternoon sun.

"Oh, that's nice, you're sharing," Frigga says, laughing. "Good rulers must learn to compromise as well, that's very good that you can share."

She takes this statement back a few moments later, as Modi shoves the grape into Jory's mouth and the little snake hisses at him, a circular lump visible right under his head. Jory slithers over to Frigga's ankle, coils himself around it, and snuggles his head down into the coils of his body as he settles down for an afternoon nap.


	77. Susurrus

_**Susurrus: **A low soft sound, as of whispering or muttering or a quiet wind; a whisper or a rustling._

Loki wakes up in the middle of the night to a little tug on his hand, and a rustling, sniffling noise beside him. He opens his eyes - Thor is still snoring loudly away beside him, an arm thrown over Loki's waist - to see Modi standing by the side of his bed, pulling at his hand.

"What is it, little one?" Loki asks quietly, so as not to wake up Thor. Modi looks up at him with huge teary eyes, a stuffed teddy bear dangling from one hand. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Uh, uh!" Modi says. Clearly the child, like Thor, also has no idea how to control the volume of his voice, and Thor snuffles in his sleep beside Loki, rolling over and molding himself around Loki's back. Loki rolls his eyes, shoves Thor's arm aside to allow for easier breathing. Modi holds his hands up to Loki, asking to be picked up.

"How did you get out of your crib?" Loki wants to know as he obliges, picking Modi up and placing him in the little hollow of space that Thor has so graciously left between them. "Although I guess it doesn't matter, since you seem to clearly have gotten yourself here safe and sound. Did Jory help you?"

Modi rolls over, presses his face into Thor's chest, and falls asleep almost instantly.

Loki smiles, watching Thor's and Modi's blonde forms press into each other in their sleep, Thor curling himself protectively, instinctively around his son. He scoots over, gently tucks his head over Modi's blonde curls, and falls asleep with the soft scent of baby in his nose.


	78. Antephialtic

Written to: Red Lights - Tiësto, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Antephialtic: <strong>Something that protects against nightmares. _

"Future kings must be brave," Thor tells Modi firmly the morning after, when he wakes up to find Modi snuggled up against his chest and a smattering of bruises against his ribs from where Modi has kicked him in his sleep. "Also, future kings would do well not to kick their parents."

Modi babbles unintelligibly up at him, hugs his teddy bear closer to his chest.

"It does not appear that your stuffed animal the Man of Iron has given you is very effective at protecting you," Thor muses, stroking his son's blonde curls in thought. "But perhaps that is because Midgard does not have an abundance of fierce creatures as the other realms have, and so have grown lax in their protective charms and items." Anthony had looked at him oddly when Thor had brought no less than twelve stuffed and dried Chitauri hearts looped in a chain and hung it above his and Pepper's bedroom door, even though Thor had told him it was to ensure the baby's safe arrival and further protection after it was born. Tony had taken it down immediately after Thor had left.

Thor squints his eyes, trying to remember how to make any little charms for Modi. As he absentmindedly twirls one of Modi's blonde curls around his finger, he comes upon an answer that he thinks might help.

"I suppose there is one simple thing we could do," Thor says. "I will be back promptly, small one. Do not kick your mother, he is still sleeping and is not wont to amuse you at the present time."

Thor returns to find that Modi has kicked Loki awake.

"I was going to make a protective bangle for him," Thor explains. "I told him not to kick you, but it appears that he is not fond of listening."

Loki grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Of course he does not listen, he is very much like you. Clearly you do not remember the times as children when we slept over in the same bed and you would kick me out because you were pretending to be a horse in your dreams."

Thor firmly remembers none of this, and tells Loki so. Loki just rolls his eyes and sits up.

"What protection did you have in mind?" Loki asks, eyeing the knife Thor holds in his hands.

"Just a simple one," Thor explains. "A braided bracelet. There is something regarding parents' hair, and love, and some of that stuff. It is not my area of expertise, but I remember my mother had one for me when I was still but a babe."

Loki scoffs. "And you remember this? It is truly fascinating, how you can remember things that happened thousands and thousands of years ago but fail to remember what foodstuffs to pick up at the Midgardian grocery stores when I ask you to go."

Thor ignores him, lifts the knife up to his head, and carefully cuts off a blonde curl. He hands the knife to Loki, who rolls his eyes but obligingly takes it, snipping off a long dark strand, which he hands to Thor.

Thor braids the black and golden hair together, looping it in a small circle around Modi's wrist. Modi tugs at the bracelet curiously, his teddy bear momentarily forgotten on the bed.

"You will not have nightmares," Thor determines, smiling proudly at his son. "It is some magic that I do not know, but it is rather effective."

* * *

><p>Modi sleeps throughout the night soundly, not even a peep coming from the nursery, but Loki still wakes up with a bruise on his ribs from when Thor smacked him in his sleep, with dreams of winning a round in the Prizefighter series.<p> 


	79. Logastellus

_**Logastellus**: A person whose love of words is greater than their knowledge of words._

Fortunately for Loki, Modi seems to have inherited not only his mischievous nature, but also his ability to sit still in the cradle of Loki's lap and read a book. Or, at the very least, pretend to read, which is far more than Loki can say about Thor.

Before Modi is ten months old, he has already begun to trace the curves of the letters and runes and inscriptions on the onionskin pages in Loki's lap with the tip of his finger, and Loki smiles indulgently, presses kisses into Modi's blonde curls, and allows his son extra time on each page, even if Modi's fingers are sticky with jam and he smears purple across the paragraphs.

"Here," Loki says one day, opening a thick book on his lap and patting his knees for Modi to climb in. "There's a character in this story that likes potatoes very much." At the mention of the spud, Modi's face brightens and he climbs obligingly into Loki's lap, snuggling back into Loki's stomach as Loki begins to read The Lord of the Rings to him, in a soft, melodious tone.

Thor, grudgingly curious about this Frodo fellow (it sounded suspiciously like the name of a great warrior in another Midgardian series Loki was currently obsessed with - Thor would later learn that Loki had been talking about Drogo, not Frodo), stands hidden behind the nursery door and listens in.

Loki, looking over, sees Thor's hulking silhouette in the doorway, smiles, and reads just a bit louder for his benefit.


	80. Anomia

Other words from Google Translate: English - Swedish, apologies if any of this is incorrect, I have no knowledge of the Swedish language whatsoever.

Written to: Collide - Leona Lewis/Avicii, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Anomia: <strong>The inability to recall the names of people or things. _

"What are these called again?" Darcy asks Helblindi as she weaves a strand of daisies through his blue-black hair. "Two cents something or other?"

Helblindi scoffs, reaches blindly over his head and takes a daisy from her, examining its soft white petals.

"Tusensköna," he says after a while, handing it back to her. She takes it and knots its stem neatly with the next one.

"What language is that?" she asks. "It sounds like Norwegian, or Danish, or something."

"It could be," Helblindi muses. "The native tongue of Jotunheimr supposedly has influenced many of the Scandinavian languages. It is not a very fun language to learn, if that is what you are interested in attempting to do. Just the wrong tone could go from calling someone very lovely to calling someone's mother something I would rather not say."

"Oh, and heaven forbid I insult your mother," Darcy says, laughing as she leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. The playful calls of children on picnics, tossing frisbees around them in Central Park surround them, and not for the first time Helblindi wonders what it would be like to have a child of his own. Loki, as many children as he has, of all shapes and sizes, seems to be no more or less content than anyone else, although Helblindi has seen a deep-hidden joy in his youngest brother's eyes whenever he is holding Modi.

"She is a very nice woman, yes," Helblindi says, looking at Darcy upside down from where his head is cradled in her lap. "She likes you very much."

Darcy is silent for a few moments, and Helblindi wants to ask her what she is thinking about.

"What is this called?" she asks, staying very still, and Helblindi cranes his neck to see a bright orange butterfly has landed on her shoulder, its wings fluttering delicately.

"Monark fjäril," he says, lifting out a hand slowly, very slowly, so as not to startle the creature. The butterfly seems to eye him for a second, deciding, before tentatively stepping out onto his index finger. "I have told you these before," he tells Darcy, and smiles as she blushes.

"I forgot," she admits. "Or, it's not so much I forgot as that I like hearing you say their names."

The butterfly flaps away, in search of flowers, as Helblindi sits up and cups Darcy's face in his hands.

"Do you remember what this is called?" he asks, his mouth hovering over hers; she can taste the mint and cold on his breath. "Us?"

Darcy has no idea, answers the best way she knows how, tilting her head up just a fraction and pressing a kiss to his mouth.

Helblindi pulls away after a few moments, laughing.

"You cheated," he accuses her playfully. "You don't remember at all." He tickles her, and she laughs as she falls back into the grass.

He leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead. "I suppose I will have to let it slide," he muses, "because you are min skatt," - a kiss to the space between her eyebrows - "min kärlek," - a kiss to her left cheekbone - "my darling," a kiss to her mouth.

When he lets her up, Darcy smiles, blushing, and just swats him on the arm and tells him he's been watching too many Jane Austen movies.


	81. Lalochezia

Written to: The Bare Necessities - The Jungle Book OST (Disney), crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Lalochezia: <strong>The emotional relief gained from using abusive or profane language._

Even though Loki has dozens, hundreds, thousands of languages at his disposal, Thor would like to believe that he knows only the useful words in any given language. Namely, curse words and insults, with the occasional phrase, such as "Where is the bathroom?" or "Another!" or "Please feed me." Thor, all in all, was quite proud of his grasp of languages.

"You really ought not to swear in front of our son," Loki informs Thor one afternoon, as Thor is using Mjolnir to hammer together a new play structure for Modi. He had been careless, and Mjolnir - just the slightest bit insulted at being used like a common hammer - had banged him right on the thumb. Thor had muttered several colourful choice words that would have made even the most seasoned sailor proud. "Where did you learn all of these words, anyway?"

Thor pops his thumb into his mouth, trying to suck away the hurt, and he could swear Mjolnir was cackling to herself from her position on the floor. Modi wriggles out of Loki's lap, toddles over to Mjolnir, and sits down beside her, patting at her head and glaring accusingly at his papa, as if the accident in question had been all his fault. Which, of course it was, but Thor was better off not admitting that to anyone.

"I...am not actually sure," Thor admits, looking at Loki. "I've visited Midgard many times."

"And clearly you have not made friends with the choicest company," Loki sniffs, examining his hands and producing a nail file from his inner robes. "You barbarian."

"I will have you know that Bluebeard was a fine fellow, a graceful warrior," Thor says, and Loki just sighs, rolls his eyes, and goes back to filing his nails.


	82. Eutony

Written to: The Name of Life - Spirited Away OST, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Eutony:<strong> The pleasantness of a word's sound._

"You barbarian," Loki hisses through gritted teeth as Thor pins him to the mattress, holds his flailing wrists down in one firm hand. "Would it be so difficult for you to actually, you know, just carry me over and deposit me gently onto the bed?"

"Far too difficult," Thor agrees as he mouths kisses into the side of Loki's neck, and Loki tries - and fails - to swallow his moans, the little pinpricks of pain and heat wending a slow burning trail down his spine to settle and smolder in the junction of his thighs.

"Must you treat me like the spoils of war?" Loki asks, pressing a hand over Thor's mouth as Thor hovers over him, aching for a kiss. "Surely there must be something to be said for gentle treatment."

Thor pauses for a moment, and Loki shivers at the heated gaze in his blue eyes, at the warm puffs of breath against his palm.

"I always feel like we go too fast, burning ourselves out like raging wildfires before we can get started. Surely it would not hurt to be embers for a while, and glow smoothly, softly?" Loki asks, removing his hand and letting it fall limp on the bed beside him. "What is the rush?"

Thor eyes him for a moment. "I suppose," he says after a very long while, "it is because I adore you far too much. And if you were to disappear the next moment, I want to have as many memories with you as I can. How can you make the most of time if you move sluggishly through life? And I treat you like treasure because that is exactly what you are, to me."

Loki laughs, softly, presses a kiss to the back of Thor's hand. "We will live forever," he says, with a little smile. "But that is quite possibly the smartest thing I have ever heard you say."

* * *

><p>Loki sighs, his spine arching in a slow burn of pleasure as Thor rocks into him from behind, deep, smooth, slow thrusts that drag against Loki's insides and send shudders through his entire body. He groans, the sound lost somewhere between his vocal cords and his mouth, and he can feel Thor's mouth against the back of his neck, allows Thor to press thick fingers into his mouth and scoop out all the strangled noises, flattening them out into the air into perfect music.<p>

"Loki," Thor murmurs gently against the hollow of Loki's shoulder blades. "Loki."

Loki revels in the sound of his name, can taste the curve of Thor's mouth shaping itself to form the O, can hear the thickness of a moan creeping up into Thor's deep voice, only revealing itself in the hard sound of the K, can touch forever and always and eternity in the drag of the I. He blindly reaches down, entwines his fingers with Thor's free hand, and squeezes.

Thor clutches back, and suddenly Loki is already far too close, closer than he realised, is suddenly already too far gone as Thor's thumb rubs at the base of Loki's own, surprises both himself and Thor as he suddenly clenches down around him, spilling a choked sob into Thor's palm.

As he begins to come down, fuzzy, hazy, he feels Thor speed up, his thrusts roughening, quickening. And because Loki is exhausted beyond his own expectations, because Thor has been so patient, he allows it, allows Thor to make the most of their eternity together.

Whispers Thor's name, barely audible, his tongue thick so the Th comes out almost like an S, the O a slow drawl as Thor bites a kiss into his shoulder, the R barely a breath, barely a whimper as Thor clutches at Loki's fingers between his own and comes.


	83. Persiflage

Written to: the entire Frozen soundtrack, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Persiflage: <strong>Light banter._

Modi and Jory have absolutely no idea why their parents seem so infatuated with this silly, baby movie. And Modi most definitely is not a baby, he would like to inform his parents that he is a big boy, thank you very much, but he as of yet still has no idea how to shape the words with his mouth, and perhaps it would help if he could just run in a straight line instead of veering off to the side to hang off Frigga's draperies to steady himself. Despite their efforts, Modi and Jory do not seem able to convince Loki and Thor to stop watching Frozen.

Jory is absolutely infuriated; he has been forced to watch the movie no less than 32 times in the past three days, and is getting quite tired of the whole thing. And no, he cannot Let It Go, as that blonde slip of a queen seems to be adamant on promoting as some method of self-help.

Jory rolls his eyes and keeps his mouth shut very tight as he watches the blonde buffoon and his mama sing along to the film, his little tail flicking with disapproval from side to side.

"Love is an open doooo~oooor, love is an open dooo~~oooorrrrr, love is an open door, with you, with you, with you, with you, love is an open dooooorrr~~"

Jory curls himself around a stuffed bear and squeezes its neck, lashing out in frustration. Modi covers his ears with his little hands and goes to sit in the corner of the hall. The echo only grows worse there, and he grumbles to himself in disappointment. Modi wraps himself in Frigga's draperies and pointedly lies down, trying to nap.

He must have fallen asleep, because he wakes up to Loki screeching at the giant Midgardian screen. Modi doesn't understand him, doesn't really understand why he is screaming at Anna, but he crawls out from under the curtain anyway, because Loki's screaming usually signifies the movie will be ending soon. Right as he crawls out, right on cue, the tall man with the red-brown hair on the screen swings his sword at Anna, and Modi stuffs his mouth into his hand as Anna turns into stone.

Jory is glaring daggers at his mama; however, he is far from basilisk status, and so his glare affects Loki not in the slightest.

* * *

><p>"It is a very good movie," Thor says, for the 32nd time, as he and Loki are lying in bed together. "I am glad that Anthony recommended it."<p>

"It is quite excellent," Loki replies, grinning up at the ceiling. "You remind me of Kristoff," he tells Thor, rolling over to look at him. "Tall and blonde and idiotic, but charming when you wish it. Mjolnir can be Sven."

Thor laughs, a deep rumble. "You...hm. I'm not sure. You remind me of everyone in the movie, at equal turns."

"Not Olaf, surely?" Loki asks, laughing, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

"But of course, Olaf, as well," Thor exclaims, rolling over and tickling Loki fiercely. Loki laughs and thrashes underneath him. "Hi, I'm Loki, and I like warm hugs," Thor says, mimicking the snowman as he wraps Loki in a tight hug.

"Well," Thor says as he releases Loki, "you do remind me of Hans; you are rather cunning, but at the same point, I do not feel that it is flattering if I compare he to you. You are much more attractive."

Loki is silent for a few moments, for so long that Thor begins to think he has fallen asleep, before Loki slips his hand into Thor's and says, up to the ceiling, "Hans is a douche."

"I completely agree," Thor says with a smile, squeezing Loki's fingers in his own.


	84. Cheiloproclitic

_**Cheiloproclitic: **Being attracted to a person's lips or mouth._

Clint hates and loves Natasha in equal measures.

Hates it when she laughs at him, his hands straining to free themselves of the leather cuffs that bind him to the headboard of their bed, absolutely despises it when Natasha leaves little love bites all over his chest and neck and he cannot lift his hands up to frame her waist, cannot run his hands through her cherry curls, cannot hold or touch or taste.

Hates it when she looks up at him tantalizingly, teasingly, as she opens her mouth, blows warm and sweet across the tip of his twitching cock. Hates it as those red, red lips open up, a little hint of pink tongue darting out to taste the beads of sticky clearness, to smear it over his skin. Hates it as she holds his hips down with a strength one would never expect from her, hates it as she takes him deep into her throat and swallows and hums around him.

"I want to come," he sobs, turning his face to bite into his arm to muffle his moans. She pulls off him with a slick pop, and he whines at the loss, his hips twitching up to her in pleading, in supplication. "Please, let me come."

Absolutely hates it when that scarlet mouth curves itself in a wicked smile, shaping itself in the perfect circle of the "No."

But, but, when it is over, and he is rubbing over his sore wrists, he lifts a hand to trace the graceful pout of her lower lip and finds that, despite all this, he loves her anyway.


	85. Dormiveglia

Written to: Bubbly - Colbie Caillat, crosspost from AO3.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dormiveglia: <strong>The space that stretches between sleeping and waking._

Tony wakes up to a little jolt against his hand. He starts, patting, feeling blindly in the midnight darkness, his fingers stroking across the smooth swell of Pepper's belly where their baby, their daughter as of one ultrasound visit ago, lies. Pepper is fast asleep, and does not wake to his stirring.

Tony looks over her furtively, checking to make sure that her vital signs are all okay, that her heart rate, breathing, blood pressure all seem to be in order. Her breathing is soft and even, one hand resting against the side of her face, cradling it against the pillow. Unable to find the source of the movement, Tony shifts over, grabs his phone from the nightstand, checks the news for any earthquakes or natural disasters that had just occurred. He finds it unlikely, and the news only confirms this, headlines about riots in far-off distant countries passing over his bleary eyes and not really sticking in his mind. Those are jobs for Iron Man, not for Tony Stark, and he is all Stark at the present moment.

He sighs, replaces his phone on the bedside table, and lies back down, resting a hand protectively on Pepper's stomach.

Just as he is settling down into the pillows, his eyes drifting closed again, just as he is beginning to fall asleep, he feels the jolt again. He starts, watches his left hand tentatively and the swell of the baby underneath it.

"It's been you this whole time, hasn't it?" Tony whispers to the bump. He feels a little kick against his palm, affirmative.

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, leaning over a pressing a little kiss to the top of Pepper's belly. "Sleeping is very good for you. And for Daddy, too."

A tiny kick, and then stillness. Tony smiles, tugs up the blankets more firmly around Pepper, and goes to sleep.


	86. Cataglottism

_**Cataglottism: **Kissing with tongue._

Loki sighs into Thor's mouth, feels his tongue, slick and wet and curling around his own as Thor presses into him, fingers entwined and tangled in the bedsheets. He swallows back a moan, his breath leaving him in a high pitched whine as Thor does something particularly cunning with his hips that has Loki writhing, his spine twisting under Thor's dark gaze.

Thor laughs breathlessly, his chuckle heavy with surprise as his hips stutter once, twice, thrice, spilling himself deep into Loki. The heat pools in the pit of Loki's stomach, a wanton desire, a burning need, and he feels tight, too strung out, as Thor pulls out, pats his thigh gently.

"Certainly you do not plan to leave me like this?" Loki asks, just the slightest bit irritated. "That would be far too cruel."

"It is not as if I have not done worse things," Thor says, with a grin that Loki wants to bite away, so insolent it is. "It is not as if you have not enjoyed everything I do to you."

Loki pouts, remembering the incident in question, remembering how Thor had licked at the piercing between his legs with a wicked tongue, a positively mischievous mouth curving up in a smirk that Loki would have been needlessly proud of if he had been able to remember how to breathe. How Thor had denied him for hours that felt like centuries, his cunt aching for something, anything, that never came.

"But not now?" Loki questions, ready to pull a pout out of his repertoire. "I have been good."

"Yes," Thor muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully, and Loki wants to scream at him, drag that smirking mouth down onto his cock and thrust and thrust and thrust... "You have been very good, these past few months."

Thor bends down, opening his mouth over Loki's straining cock, and it is all Loki can do not to thrust up into that tantalizing, moist heat. He closes his eyes, leans back against the pillow, waits, and when Thor doesn't move, Loki cracks open an eye and frowns down at him.

"Well? Get on with it," Loki says, grinding his teeth and wriggling his hips in Thor's firm grip. "I cannot possibly be expected to wait forever."

Thor laughs, lighthearted now, and obliges. Loki smiles and lets the white waves of pleasure lap over him as Thor's tongue does positively wicked things, curling, stroking, teasing, and finds himself laughing as he comes.


	87. Fuliginous

Written to: Let It Be - The Beatles, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fuliginous: <strong>Murky and obscure, soot-coloured._

It is a great surprise to Thor when he comes into the nursery one sunny summer morning and finds a dark child in Modi's crib. He starts, looking at the sleeping peaceful features that look so much like his son - but most certainly cannot be. Where Modi is fair, this babe is dark, with dark lashes and dark eyebrows and soft silky dark hair that is free from all of Modi's wild curls.

The baby opens its eyes - and how green they are! like shimmering emeralds -, yawns, looks up at Thor and smacks its lips. Holds out its arms, asking to be held.

"Loki," Thor calls over his shoulder, unwilling to let the child out of his side lest it turn into a snarling beast and bite his head off in his inattention. "We may have a problem."

"What is it?" Loki asks, coming into the nursery with a little bowl of applesauce made from Idunn's orchard.

"Modi has...erm, been replaced. By a changeling. Or some such foul creature," Thor says, eyeing the dark child in his son's crib.

Loki peers into the crib, rolls his eyes, laughs as he picks up the thing.

"Do you not recognise your son?" Loki asks, snuggling the thing close to him, reveling in its little laughs. Thor looks closely, examines the child, finds reluctantly the curve of Modi's smile and the crinkles at the corners of Modi's eyes.

"Is that really him?" Thor asks, still unsure. "He has your colouring."

"Well, he is my son, too," Loki says, teasing gently as he tickles the child - Modi - under his chin. Modi giggles, the same squeal of laughter Thor is so familiar with.

"He looks as though he has rolled his hair about in cinders," Thor says, smiling hesitantly at the bundle Loki holds in his arms.

Modi throws an arm out, almost upending the bowl of applesauce, and shouts, "Pa," at Thor. Thor smiles then, fully, at Modi's first articulate word, and presses a kiss to Modi's dark hair.


	88. Jentacular

_**Jentacular: **Relating to breakfast._

Loki, despite his great appreciation for fine dining, has little to no idea how to cook. So when Modi wakes up in the early hours of the morning and toddles over to Loki's side of the bed, slapping him awake with cold little fingers and pointing at his mouth, Loki is absolutely at a loss. The cooks are still fast asleep - it would be hideously rude to wake them, not after they make such delicious cakes day after day without fail - and Loki wouldn't trust Thor with peeling an orange, much less making food for a child.

Loki takes Modi's hand and the two of them go off to the darkened kitchens, where Loki places Modi on a sack of potatoes and roots through the cupboards for a pan.

"Ehhh, Mama," Modi says, patting at the potatoes underneath him.

"Egg? You want eggs?" Loki asks, lighting a little fire in the hearth. The flickering blue flames dance in the fireplace and cast long shadows over the room. Modi nods, stuffing his fingers in his mouth, and watches Loki crack open two large, beautiful eggs into the pan with a knob of butter.

Once the eggs are finished, beautifully fluffy and yellow - and Loki is quite proud of them - he comes and sits down next to Modi, blowing on a little bite of scrambled egg before lifting it to Modi's mouth.

Modi takes the fork, stuffs the egg into his mouth, chews thoughtfully for a few seconds before making a face.

"What is it?" Loki asks anxiously. "Does it taste good?"

"Ba, Mama. Tay bad."

Loki frowns. Tastes the egg - which to him tastes at least passable. Modi turns up his nose at another proffered bite, and Loki sighs and fetches Modi a little bowl of cereal instead.


	89. Karoshi

_**Karoshi: **Death from being overworked._

Clint curses the fact that he is, still, undeniably human.

He's spent the entire week getting ready for his proposal to Natasha, and good god, what a tiring week it's been. Unfortunately, his status as an Avenger didn't help him in getting reservations at one of the best restaurants in the city. Fortunately, he wasn't above using the threat of the infamous Hulk smash to score a table for two within the same week. Bruce was rather dismayed when he found out, and he wanted to phone the managers to let them know that nothing of the sort would be going on, and Clint had disabled all the telephones in the tower until further notice.

He'd run around the city madly, setting up an enormous scavenger hunt throughout downtown, threatening, coercing, and pleading random civilians and store owners not to mess up any of the props for Natasha.

On Friday, when Natasha finally comes back from her mission in Sweden, Clint is tired to the bone and vibrating with nervous energy, the powder blue Tiffany's box burning a hole in his pocket. He hands Natasha the first clue and falls, trembling, onto the sofa, his hand over his eyes as he tries to catch a few hours of sleep before she finishes the quests and he has to leave for the restaurant.

He finds himself far too tense for any sort of relaxation, and so he does their laundry, finding solace in her cool silky underwear as he washes and dries and folds, breathing in the hot scent of pressed clothes as he irons and makes sharp creases in his shirts.

And when it does finally come time for him to leave, he finds his eyelids growing heavy as his clumsy fingers knot his tie, finds his tongue thick in his mouth as he gives directions to the cabbie to the restaurant.

She meets him there, and he barely has enough energy to get down on one knee, doesn't even finish the question as he opens the box, and the last thing he sees before he finally falls asleep is her smile and nod.


	90. Tingo

_**Tingo: **Taking objects one desires from a friend's house by gradually borrowing all of them._

"Loki, have you been taking my clothes?" Darcy asks, rummaging through her drawers and tossing out clothes onto her bedroom floor. "I can't find my black skinny jeans. Have you seen them?"

Loki sniffs, studying his nails with disinterest. Darcy had taken him to get his first mani/pedi that morning, and he was rather awed by the buffed and polished state of his nails.

"No, I have absolutely no idea where your skinny jeans have gone," Loki says, as though he is affronted. Loki actually does know very well where they are (namely, ripped and tangled in his and Thor's bedsheets after Thor had torn them off Loki in a fit of passion). "You must have misplaced them."

"And this perfume! I swear I just bought this a month ago, how can it already be empty?" Darcy asks, going over to her vanity and shaking a small rectangular bottle at Loki accusingly. Loki just rolls his eyes, shrugs.

As he turns back to examine his nails, Darcy ambushes him from behind, presses his wrist to her nose.

"You demon!" she says, swatting him with no real malice. "You're wearing it right now!"

Loki shrugs, holds up his hands. "You can't prove anything."

Darcy watches him with narrowed eyes, before sighing and retreating to her dresser to root around for something to wear.


	91. Fika

Written to: Fade Into Darkness (Vocal Club Mix) - Avicii, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fika: <strong>Drinking coffee along with eating something sweet._

Modi climbs up into Thor's lap one breezy spring morning, situating himself firmly on Loki's knees and patting at Mjolnir's hammerhead from her position on the table. The warhammer seems to purr under Modi's curious fingers, and Thor absentmindedly runs his a hand through Modi's dark hair (the child still as of yet shows no signs of turning back, much to Loki's pleasure) as he sips a cup of delicious Midgardian coffee and reads a British newspaper that Loki had left lying around. Loki had taken to reading The Guardian, scouring its inky pages looking for mentions of a fellow named Tom Hiddleston, whom he claimed played him in a few movies. Loki had even brought up the subject of meeting their Midgardian counterparts, and Thor had obliged so far as to read a bit about this Chris Hemsworth person, if only because Loki had mentioned in an off hand manner that he found him rather attractive.

The fact that the man could consume 7 chickens was impressive, and, frankly, alarming. Thor was seriously considering meeting this marvellous specimen.

"Papa," Modi says, nudging Thor in the ribs with an elbow, forcing his father's gaze to him. "Me?" he asks, pointing to the honeycake on Thor's plate.

"Of course, sweet one, if that is what you would like," Thor says, kissing his son's dark hair and turning back to his paper.

Modi nibbles at the pastry, getting his fingers sticky and spilling crumbs all over Thor's lap. He sucks on his fingers, frowning at them as the sticky honey refuses to come off. He cranes his neck back to look up at Thor, but Thor is still distracted, and Modi decides to take matters into his own hands.

He dips the tips of his fingers into Thor's coffee (lukewarm now) and rubs his fingers together, grinning as the stickiness goes away. He stuffs his fingers into his mouth, makes a face at the bitter taste, and flails in the general direction of Loki across the table. Loki looks up from his magazine (where he most certainly was not admiring Chris Hemsworth's delectable body), and with a flick of his wrist, turns Thor's coffee into milk for his son.

* * *

><p>Later that night, as Thor lies curled around Loki in bed, Loki hears him mutter something against his back and turns to face him.<p>

"What was that?" he asks, drowsy. "You said something?"

"I can eat 7 chickens too," Thor muttered again, not meeting Loki's eyes. "I cannot see why this is an impressive statistic for that Midgardian actor who has portrayed me in the past."

Loki's eyes widen, and he rolls them, trying to keep the laugh from his voice. "If one didn't know you better, one might say you were jealous. Possessive," he teases, pecking Thor on the cheek.

"I could show you just how possessive I can be," Thor says, rolling over onto Loki suddenly, biting kisses into every inch of flesh he can find and leaving swollen marks all over his skin.


	92. Kef

Steve/Bucky-ish, Steve's vibrator comes from Hush (Let Me Love You With My Silence). Minor spoilers for: Captain America - The Winter Soldier.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Kef: <strong>Drowsy contentment._

Steve really, sincerely hoped that Clint was too busy with his and Natasha's activities to be paying attention to the network usage in the Avengers Tower. When he wasn't on missions, Clint was assigned the task of using his sharp, acute visual skills to monitor the networks and feeds that ran in and out of the tower, just to make sure they weren't under any sorts of cyberattacks or whatnot.

However, given that it was an early Sunday morning and the sun wasn't even up yet, just a smudge of orange on the horizon, Steve felt relatively safe about his planned endeavours.

He swallows as he opens up the laptop Tony had given him to help him get used to the 21st century, his fingers drumming nervously on his pillow as he gives a sideways look to the dark blue vibrator he'd taken out of the packaging the night before.

This Chrome feature was really quite useful, Steve muses as he opens a new browser window. He silently apologised to the little man with the sunglasses and the hat for what depraved things he was about to search for.

Steve just stares at the screen, his face colouring a bright crimson. No, surely not, surely those monstrous things couldn't fit insi - oh, well, apparently they would and could. What a time to be alive.

Steve looks at his dark blue vibrator, which seems relatively tame in comparison. Swallowing roughly, listening intently to the creaks of the Avengers Tower just to make sure that nobody else is up yet, Steve pushes down his boxers (star-spangled, of course) and liberally coats his fingers with lotion.

He sighs, trailing his hands down his body, pinches at his nipples and squirms as he feels slight tingles of pleasure run down his spine to pool in the pit of his stomach. He bites his lip as he tugs at himself, once, twice, trying to think about something, someone, anything. His mind flits over to Bucky for the briefest of seconds, thinking about the last time he saw him. Dark eyes, teary, his hair long and matted, his beautiful mouth covered with that horrendous black muzzle mask thing...

Steve stifled a groan into his pillow at the memory. Bucky had promised that they'd see each other soon, but it had to be kept a secret. The idea of some illicit rendezvous really did appeal to Steve's romantic sense, and oh God, it had been quite a while since he'd touched himself like this.

Not wanting to finish too soon, he reached behind him, tentatively working a finger into himself. It felt odd, but it wasn't too bad, he decides as he takes a deep breath, presses in a second finger. Scissors.

And oh. Oh. Oh.

Steve shudders, biting into his pillow to stifle a moan. What was that? he wonders, pressing tentatively against that spot again and feeling the same sharp spike of arousal, heat puddling in his groin.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Steve tugs his fingers out of himself, slicks up the deep blue vibrator with more lotion, and slowly, carefully, pushes it into himself. It isn't very big, just big enough to make a pleasant, heated burn as it makes its way inside.

Once it is settled right up against that lovely spot Steve had discovered earlier, Steve takes a deep breath, curls his hand into the sheets, and turns it on.

He can barely keep a scream from tearing its way out of his throat as he comes, violently, suddenly, all over his sheets.

With shaking hands, he pulls it out, turns the whirring device off, flops over into a dry spot and dozes off with a sleepy, sated smile on his face .

* * *

><p>When he wakes up, he finds a little box of text on his laptop.<p>

"Steve. That was fantastic. Think I can have another show soon? ;)

With love, Bucky"


	93. Ya'aburnee

Written to: Wake Me Up (Avicii Speed Remix) - Avicii, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ya'aburnee: <strong>Literally, "you bury me," the hope that you will die before your love because you cannot live without them._

"You ought to take up archery," Loki prods Thor one day after he has finished training and is taking a long soak in the baths. Loki is sitting carefully perched on the edge, letting his bare legs dangle into the suds. Thor is absentmindedly rubbing one of Loki's feet.

"For what purpose?" Thor wants to know, looking up at Loki. Loki is biting his lip in that absolutely fetching, distracting manner, and Thor is hard pressed not to drag him into the tub, clothes and all, and ravish him. "Is Mjolnir and the power of the storm not enough to protect me?"

"It's not that," Loki says, biting his lip again in thought. Thor swallows roughly, and kneads at the instep of Loki's foot with gentle fingers. "For when I journey to Valhalla."

Thor looks up at this. Finds Loki on the brink of tears.

"Don't cry, fairest," Thor says, reaching up a sudsy, wet hand to cradle Loki's cheek. "That, if it ever comes, will not be for several millennia yet. We're gods, after all."

"You'll shoot the arrow, won't you?" Loki asks, clinging to Thor's hand and looking down at him with huge, watery eyes. "Say you will. Swear it."

Thor sighs, strokes over the sweep of Loki's cheekbone with a sudsy thumb, and agrees.


	94. Solecism

Written to: Harrison St. - Ryan Groff, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Solecism: <strong>A grammatical mistake, a minor blunder in speech. A breach of etiquette or decorum._

"The Lady Jane demands closure," Thor says apologetically, scuffing at a spot in the carpet that has been there for centuries and looking at his feet, if only to avoid Loki's furious gaze. "And it would truly be rude not to grant her that, would it not?"

Loki scoffs, rolls his eyes. In his opinion, this Lady Jane Foster was not someone who deserved anything. In Loki's opinion, having Natalie Portman portray her was nothing short of blasphemy to Natalie Portman, whom he was sure was a very nice person in real life and nothing at all like Jane. Helpless, pitiful, Midgardian Jane. Loki scoffs, examines his nails, and allows Thor to squirm a little longer.

"The Lady Darcy said it would be horrendously rude if I did not accompany her to this social function," Thor protests, knowing full well that Loki and Darcy are best friends. "I did not want to commit any social faux pas."

"Faux pas, I assume you mean. Not fox paws."

"Yes, that," Thor agrees, shooting a tentative look at Loki, who is still glaring daggers at him. He quickly looks back down. "And I have already sworn to her that I would attend her at the ball for the medics."

Loki sighs, lamenting Thor's manipulability for the first time. Usually he was the one manipulating, so it didn't matter, but this, this was really much too much. He briefly wonders if there might be some way to make Lady Jane gain fifty pounds without being too conspicuous. A strange addiction to cheesy potatoes? Loki snickers to himself, thinking about how she would be featured on a TLC TV show.

Thor smiles tentatively, unsure what Loki is laughing at. From the tone of his laughter, it cannot be very kind, but as long as Loki is not shouting at him, anything would be nice.

"Very well, since you have already promised her you would go, I suppose you must," Loki says, shooing Thor away as he heads into the library to research some choice spells on food fascination. "Don't forget to compliment her."

"Compliment her? What ought I to say to her?" Thor asks, tagging along and holding out a hand to keep the library door from closing. Loki looks back, disgruntled.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "Tell her she looks thin. I believe Midgardian women enjoy that sort of thing."

* * *

><p>The instant Thor sees Jane, he breaks out into a bright smile, reaches for her hand, kisses it.<p>

Tells her that she looks lovely, looks positively brilliant, looks incredibly malnourished.

Jane gasps, colours, and slaps him across the face, storming off.

* * *

><p>Loki is hard pressed to keep from laughing when Thor relates the story to him, back in Asgard with an ice pack held to his face and a brilliant swelling of red in the shape of a hand across his cheekbone. He sorts the potato addiction spell into his head for later, thinking that Jane has suffered enough for the present moment.<p> 


	95. Pettifoggery

Written to: Won't Go Home Without You - Maroon 5, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><strong><em>Pettifoggery: <em>**_A trivial quarrel._

"It is our 5,000th," Laufey says one wintry Jötunheimr morning as he wakes up to find the icy sun shining in through the window and flowers creeping onto the windowsill.

"Hard to believe," Farbauti agrees, stitching yet another quilt for Modi. And Laufey loves his grandson, really he does, but he doesn't quite understand why the baby needs thousands of blankets and thick clothes. Surely, his jötunn blood is sufficient to protect him from the mild cold spells Asgard sometimes suffers, from when Loki is feeling a bit upset at Thor and casts eternal winter over the entire land. Loki had convinced Farbauti and Laufey to watch Frozen as well - Farbauti had been humming Olaf's In Summer song for the past six months, much to Laufey's amused chagrin. "Has it really been so long since we got married?"

"Indeed it has been," Laufey says, sitting up and smiling at his wife across the room. "Of course, it would appear that time passes quickly when you are with one to enjoy it with."

"You flatter me," Farbauti says, blushing prettily and turning her face to the side. "Did you have any plans for today?" she inquires, setting down her embroidery.

"Not really," Laufey admits. There wasn't much to do today, he didn't think - some administration of the local villages, one tribal jötunn squabbling over frost chicken grazing grounds, something of the sort, nothing that Helblindi couldn't take care of...but Helblindi was on Midgard with Darcy, and as much as he loved his sons, Laufey was not quite sure if Byleistr would be able to produce a fair judgment, and Loki didn't care for administration at all. Helblindi was clearly the most suited to ruling of the three; Byleistr would as soon eat the frost chickens and the tribal jötunn as make a decision, and Loki would most likely turn the jötunn into a frost chicken himself for bothering him with such trivial matters.

"We would need to bring Helblindi back for whatever duration of the events you have planned," Laufey says. "I am reluctant to cut his time with the Midgardian woman short, short as it is already."

Farbauti taps her mouth, thinking. "She could come with him," she says, with a slight shrug. "Helblindi can show her around the realm after he is done with his duties."

Laufey looks pointedly out the window, at the bleak, icy landscape. "Yes, because Jotunheimr has a lot in terms of sightseeing and tourism," he says, with a little laugh. Farbauti just smiles innocently, tells him that she had planned a trip to the Caribbean; Loki had spoken highly of the place .

"She seems like a responsible woman," Farbauti says, convincingly. "I am sure she could help Helblindi in whatever things he has to negotiate."

And because Farbauti seems so clearly excited about visiting the Caribbean, because she's been humming Olaf's part for the past six months, Laufey can do nothing but acquiesce.

* * *

><p>"How much grazing land could six chickens possibly need?" Darcy asks, horrified. The tribal jötunn glares at her, looks pleadingly up at Helblindi, waiting for him to talk sense into the dithering Midgardian woman who clearly knew nothing about the intricacies and needs of frost chickens. Unfortunately, the crown prince seemed rather infatuated with the woman, much to the jötunn's dismay, so he was left, in his faltering knowledge of English, to try to argue his point.<p>

"Six chicken, much territorial, will kill," he explains, staring up at her.

"Kill what?" Darcy asks, seemingly ignorant to the jötunn's increasing frustration. "Kill each other?"

"No, no," he explains, frowning. "Kill jötunn."

"You're afraid of six chickens?"

The jötunn snarls a few choice words in his own language, prompting Helblindi to turn to him and tell him in a very firm tone that the meeting was over and his chickens would only have a certain designated area in which to roam.

The jötunn sighed, backed out of the throne room, and made a mental note to invest in some good, strong armour and a sharp pitchfork to keep the bloodthirsty chickens at bay.


	96. Kakistocracy

_**Kakistocracy: **Government by the least qualified, most stupid members._

True to form, about two hours later the tribal jötunn comes back, looking very disgruntled and carrying a bloody sack on his back. Darcy eyes it suspiciously; Helblindi seems to regard it as a normal occurrence and tells the jötunn in their own language to carry it back to the kitchens.

"What was that?" Darcy whispers, still entranced by the small puddle of crimson blood the bag had dripped onto the icy floor of the throne room.

"A frost chicken," Helblindi explains, humming to himself as a great amount of banging and tinkling glass comes from the kitchen. "Or possibly that giant's hopes and dreams. Perhaps both."

"Why did he bring us a frost chicken?" Darcy wants to know. "I thought he was a chicken farmer, and only had six chickens. Why would you bring someone one of your six chickens? That just doesn't seem smart."

"He probably does not have the land capacity to sustain six chickens," Helblindi explains patiently. "So he brought you one. Look," he says as the jötunn emerges from the kitchens, bearing a covered dish and presenting it to Darcy.

Darcy lifts the lid hesitantly, is nothing short of nonplussed as a little blue chick pops out into her hand, peeping at her with high pitched squeaks.

"It's so cute!" Darcy exclaims, hugging the chick to her chest and cooing at it. The tribal jötunn looks at her in mixture of disbelief and pity; surely the woman was touched in the head, he thought, for her to be so affectionate towards bloodthirsty poultry. He feels a twinge of amusement as the chick pecks at Darcy's finger and draws blood, more confusion when Darcy just sucks at the puncture and says lovingly how cute the demon is.

"We must keep it," Darcy proclaims, even as the chick opens its beak wide and tries to gnaw at her wrist. "I love it."

The jötunn shrugs, backs out of the throne room, and on his way home, pities the crown prince for being entranced by such a foolish woman. Perhaps she was a witch, he thinks, nursing the bites on his arms that said chick had inflicted three hours previously and had made him bleed all over the canvas bag he managed to stuff the chick into. Perhaps she was like the youngest prince and fond of sorcery and magic and things like that. Perhaps, he thought with a shudder, she acted that way because she did not fear death. The jötunn shuddered at the thought, and steeled himself for the upcoming ordeals with the other five chickens.


	97. Louring

Written to: Say Hey (I Love You) - Michael Franti and Spearhead, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Louring: <strong>Darkened by clouds. Looking angry or sullen._

"Modi, you really must not bite," Thor gently scolds his son as he carefully pours water over his son's head to wash out the shampoo suds in his dark brown hair. Modi's hair certainly wasn't black any longer, but nor was it the bright gold colour it had been. Thor had stopped thinking about it; it made his head hurt too much. "It is not polite to bite people, especially your grandfather. You understand?"

Modi looks up at him impishly. Shrugs. Thor sighs and tells Modi to close his eyes as he pours another handful of water over his head.

"You will apologise tomorrow," Thor tells him firmly. "You understand?"

"Me?" Modi asks, as if Thor could possibly be talking to somebody else.

"Yes, you," Thor says, readying a towel. "You will apologise."

"Me sorry?"

"Yes, you sorry."

"Am not."

Thor eyes his son as he carefully towels off his little limbs. "You will be," he declares, and that is the end of it. Thor doesn't notice Loki standing in the doorway of the bathroom, biting at his knuckles to keep himself from laughing.

* * *

><p>Odin looks particularly fierce the next morning, perhaps a combination of dealing with idiotic Asgardian villagers, perhaps from a sudden infestation of Jotunheimr frost chickens that had seemingly come out of nowhere. They had been delivered through the Bifrost that very morning, each with a little ribbon tied loosely around its neck with tags that were addressed to "Loki and the family." Loki had claimed to know absolutely nothing about it, and Heimdall had just been completely nonplussed and had been unable to stop the swarm of blue poultry as they clucked and cheeped and jumped over him, scrambling over the Rainbow Bridge.<p>

"Ah, yes, the one of fearsome teeth," he says, almost jestingly, as Thor gently pushes Modi towards him. Modi clings to Thor's leg, scrambling behind it, peeking out from behind Thor's knee at his grandfather, whose fierceness is diminished greatly by a chick suddenly popping out from the thatch of his beard. "How have you slept, young prince?"

Emboldened by the chick's bravery, Modi toddles up to his grandfather's throne, pats at his knee reassuringly. "I sorry," he says, and even though it is far from sincere, Odin just smiles, pats his grandson's head, and picks him up to place him on his lap. Modi roots through Odin's beard, looks at the chick he pulls out, examines it closely. The chicken eyes him back beadily before pecking him quite fiercely on the thumb and hopping off to waddle away.


	98. Appetence

Written to: Sleeping With a Friend - Neon Trees, crosspost from AO3. Minor, implied spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Appetence: <strong>An eager desire, an instinctive inclination; an attraction or a natural bond._

The next time Steve sees Bucky, Bucky is trying to break into his bedroom in the Avengers Tower. Steve hurries over, unlocks the window, drags him in before he can set off the security system.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks, checking behind his shoulder to make sure the bedroom door is locked. "You can't break into the tower at night, Tony's got too many bells and whistles."

Bucky shrugs. Doesn't say anything, his mouth covered with that black mask. Steve looks, takes a really close look for the first time. He is a few inches taller than Bucky now, but Bucky looks...far smaller, somehow. His dark eyes dart around the room before coming to rest on Steve, boring holes into him with an intensity that makes a shiver run up Steve's spine. After a moment, Bucky looks away, sighs, runs a hand through his dark hair.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks. The scent of iron and salt and a hint of the cologne Bucky used to wear - back in 1940, and has it been that long? it must have been - fills his nose. "Are you hurt, or hungry, or thirsty, or anything?"

Bucky shakes his head, and for the first time, Steve finds uncertainty in those dark eyes.

"Who are you?" he asks, his words muffled behind the mask.

Steve looks at him, confused. "Don't you remember me? We just saw each other a few months ago. And I guess you broke into my room a few weeks ago. You left me a message on my laptop."

Bucky shakes his head vigorously, his eyes darting around the room, drinking in every detail, every shadow, trying to remember. "I don't."

Steve reaches up, slowly, tentatively, and Bucky holds himself very still as Steve takes away the mask.

"It's me. Steve Rogers," he says, placing the mask on his dresser. "Captain America."

Bucky's prosthetic hand curls into a fist, and several different emotions pass through his dark eyes. Anger. Fear. Confusion. He throws a punch, but only halfheartedly, and though there is still a frightening amount of strength behind it, Steve easily stops it.

"I...I have to kill you," Bucky says, gasping, his real hand massaging at his temples as if to fight off a migraine. "They said I have to."

"Who said you have to?" Steve asks, letting Bucky's prosthetic drop back to his side.

Bucky shakes his head from side to side, strands of dark hair falling over his face. Steve reaches out and smooths them back. "I don't know."

"Do you want to kill me?" Steve questions, wondering if he should raise an alarm. But how can he? he wonders. This is Bucky. A friend, a love.

Bucky bites his lip, answers after a long moment. "No. Don't want to."

Steve smiles quietly, turns to his dresser and rummages for a towel and a spare set of clothes. He hands them to Bucky, points to the bathroom door. When Bucky doesn't respond, Steve gently nudges him towards the bathroom. Once inside, and the window is opened to let the steam out, Steve runs the hot water into the tub with a capful of bath salts. Gently undoes the buttons and straps on Bucky's uniform, letting them pile messily on the floor like sloppy shadows, and after asking if Bucky's prosthetic arm is safe in the water (it is), herds him into the bath.

Steve sits down on the edge of the tub, moistens a soft sponge, scrubs over Bucky's unresisting limbs, watching with a little smile as Bucky relaxes fully under his hands.

* * *

><p>Their limbs entangled beneath Steve's sheets, Bucky mumbles something that Steve doesn't quite catch.<p>

"What was that?" he asks, stroking Bucky's soft hair, still slightly damp at the tips and smelling of Steve's shampoo.

"I feel safe here," Bucky admits, his words muffled not by his mask, but into the hollow of Steve's throat. "I don't know why, I don't remember, but you make me feel safe. I don't want to hurt you, but you're Captain America."

Steve hugs Bucky tightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"I won't be Captain America for a little bit, okay?" he murmurs gently. "I'll just be Steve, and you'll just be Bucky, okay? Just for now, just like this."

Bucky nods, his breathing slowing, deepening, and Steve presses another kiss to his forehead before falling asleep.


	99. Venters

Written to: Do You Want to Build a Snowman? - Frozen OST (Disney). Crosspost from AO3.

Refer back to Chapter 74 - Murr-ma.

For KitCat Italica.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Venters: <strong>What the wind or tide drives in from the ocean upon a wave. _

Much to Helblindi's consternation, Heimdall was no longer opening the Bifrost to him, or to Darcy, or in fact to any people besides Loki that might in any way be related to Jotunheimr. Ever since the frost chickens had infested Asgard, Heimdall had been watching the Bifrost like a hawk and would allow access to practically no one, like some Asgardian TSA service or something of the sort, as Darcy had so eloquently put it.

Granted, the frost chicks were wreaking minor havoc on Asgard, setting fires in the woods, terrifying small children, and the like.

Helblindi is even more disgruntled when he says goodbye to Darcy, steps through the portal between Jotunheimr and Midgard, and finds that the frost portal has shifted several miles. Instead of stepping back into the kitchens in the ice palace, he finds himself underwater. Holding his breath and squinting around in the dark water, Helblindi swims upwards, coming out in a quiet cove that Jotunheimr had used frequently for trading in the past. The dark hulls of boats and ships rose up around him, great big swells bobbing silently up and down in the frosty quiet.

Helblindi swims to the shore, making a mental note about the portal's movement for the next time. He shakes out his wet hair, takes off his soaked shoes (completely ruined, now), begins to make the uphill trek towards the castle. Amongst the fine grains of sand and pebbles underneath his bare feet, he feels a cool, smooth object.

He bends down, picks up the oval locket, dangling from a fine silver chain with a broken clasp swinging wildly from the end of the strand. Holding his breath against all hope, Helblindi pops open the silver circle.

The pictures inside are slightly waterlogged; his features have been all but erased. Fortunately, Darcy's smile is still clear, her eyes and confident expression only slightly smudged. Hellbindi smiles and tucks it into his pocket carefully. As he begins to walk towards the castle again, the distance no longer seems quite so far.


	100. Chatoyant

Thanks for 100 chapters! :)

Written to: Roar - Katy Perry, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chatoyant: <strong>Varicoloured when seen in different lights or from different angles._

Thor is surprised at how many colours Loki's mouth can hold.

His default hue is a light, barely there pink that doesn't do justice to the thin stretch of his lips as he laughs, the colour swelling over the lower curve of his lip as he grins and talks, his mouth and hands moving animatedly, in tandem.

The corners of Loki's mouth turn purple, the deep blues and violets of his frost heritage stealing in from the corners of his lips when he falls ill and his body temperature falls lower to try to cool his fever down. He blows his nose, crumpling the tissue in his hand and coughing weakly, his lips curving amaranthine around the sound, and Thor, though he knows there is nothing to worry about, listens with worry to the rattle in Loki's chest. Loki's lips get chapped quite a lot when he is sick, and despite Thor's insistences that Midgardians have invented a product called chapstick to alleviate the woes of dry lips, he still catches Loki biting at his lips, licking away little flakes of skin just barely tinged with purple.

Thor is particularly fond of the colour Loki's mouth turns after he has been freshly kissed. His lips seem fuller, sensuous, as his tongue swipes along the fresh swollen flush of his lower lip and his eyes search out Thor's, holding them intensely. The redness of his mouth calls to Thor, daring him to turn it the same scarlet as his cape, and Thor happily complies each and every time, laughing and sucking and nibbling as a flush creeps up Loki's chest and shoots across his face to dust his cheeks with want.

Then again, Thor is also incredibly partial to the silvery red Loki's mouth becomes coated with after he has finished sucking Thor off and before he has wiped off his mouth with a corner of the sheets.

Loki knows full well about this, and as he stands in front of the Sephora counter with Darcy, he grins to himself as he describes the exact shade of silvery red that he wants to the woman behind the counter.


	101. Scintilla

Written to: A Thousand Miles - Vanessa Carlton, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Scintilla: <strong>A tiny, brilliant flash or spark; a small thing; a barely-visible trace._

"I've never been so exhausted," Natasha admits, flopping down into a chair besides Clint in the small coffeehouse across the street from Pronovias. "And so itchy. You would think that a top tier bridal dress store would make dresses that weren't so scratchy, but I guess I was trying on all the wrong dresses or they really are just that itchy."

She reaches over, takes a sip of Clint's chai tea. He smiles as he watches her throat move in delicate swallows, as she wipes her mouth and sighs, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.

"And I'm positively famished," she continues. "I feel like I haven't eaten in years. Did we have breakfast? I think we had breakfast."

"We did have breakfast," Clint agrees. "You probably just feel hungry because you've spent the last three hours being laced up."

Natasha smiles, her eyes still closed, just the faintest hint of a smile, the first one that Clint has seen since the fitter had kicked him out of the store (apparently the fitting of dresses was a completely private and female matter, and would Clint be able to tell the difference between Chantilly lace and Venetian Gros Point? she didn't think so) and Natasha had smiled from behind the glass at him to reassure him. Clint grins back, even though Natasha isn't looking, admires the tiny flash of sparkling white teeth the upturned corner of her mouth reveals to him.

"What else do we have to do today?" she asks him, opening her eyes and turning back to him. "Hopefully not too much. I kind of just want to go home and lie down and eat pizza on the bed while we watch TV."

Clint grins, looking down at the list he'd written on his hand that morning.

"I guess the rest of this stuff we can skip, envelopes and themes and flowers can wait, but I think it might be a shame if we didn't try the cakes today," he suggests. He looks up to find Natasha smiling fully. She reaches over the table, grabs his wrist, drags him up with an energy he wouldn't have suspected of her.

"That sounds fabulous," she tells him as she hails down a cab. "But I think, perhaps, we should try the cakes at Baked today, and the ones at Magnolia Bakery tomorrow, and some at Butterfly Bakeshop on Sunday..."

A cab pulls up beside them, and he opens the door for Natasha. "Of course," he agrees. "We wouldn't want to miss out on the best cake, would we? And we can't exactly know which one that is unless we try all of them."

As the cab pulls away from the curb, Natasha leans over the backseat to press a kiss to his cheek.


	102. Nakres

_**Nakres: **The satisfaction gained from life's gifts; proud pleasure, especially in one's children or grandchildren and their successes, however small._

"One," Loki says, holding up a brightly coloured block with a big blue 1 painted on it.

"One!" Modi chirps. Loki smiles, pats his head, gives him the block and sternly tells him not to try to stuff it into Jory's mouth again, the baby snake does not like that very much. Jory has curled himself over Modi's shoulder and flicks his tongue curiously at the block Modi sets down in front of him so he can look at it too. The vivid colours hurt his eyes, and he turns away.

"Two," Loki says, showing Modi and Jory the yellow block with the red 2.

"Two!" Modi shouts, clapping his hands and giggling as Loki stacks it on top of the 1 with a smile.

"Three."

"Twee!"

Loki laughs, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Modi's hair. The baby had managed to develop some semblance of control over his colouring, and enjoyed turning his hair and eyes all manner of colours. Today, it was a bright red, one that reminded Loki of Thor's cape. Thor had given up trying to keep track of all the different shades and rainbows that spilled through their son's face.

"Oh, look at you, you're so smart!" Loki exclaims, cuddling Modi in his arms. Jory, from his position on the floor, examines the blocks carefully, squinting his eyes to see past all the bright hues.

He hisses once, twice, thrice, spitting mildly corrosive venom onto the carpet, and Loki only smiles at him and pats his head as well, taking care not to let his sleeves dip into the puddle of poison on the floor.


	103. Kontal-Kontil

_**Kontal-kontil: **The swinging of long earrings or the swishing of a dress as one walks._

"You will wear a dress to the Lady Natasha's wedding?" Thor asks, looking up at Loki, who is standing in the middle of a circle of puddled silks and satins, staring at himself and turning around to look at himself from all angles. He is currently draped in a yellow number that, frankly, makes him look jaundiced, but Thor keeps his thoughts to himself. Loki, unfortunately, is rather adept at reading minds and inferring unspoken thoughts, and he frowns at himself in the mirror and slips out of the yellow dress as well.

"It is not very nice, to tell somebody they look jaundiced," he says, coming over and crawling into the bed, his bare skin smooth against Thor's as he pouts. "I most certainly hope you did not tell the Lady Jane that when you went with her to that Midgardian function."

Thor rolls his eyes. "I did not get as far as to compliment her outfit," he says, wrapping an arm agreeably around Loki. "I complimented her on her weight, as you suggested, and I suppose I said the wrong thing."

Loki laughs. "What did you say to her, exactly?" Even though he knows full well what Thor said, he wishes to hear it again. It is a source of endless amusement.

"I believe I said she looked malnourished," Thor mutters, sighing. Loki snorts, laughing even more as he thinks of what Jane must have looked like.

"Yes, well, that may not have been the best choice of words," Loki says, grinning as he rolls back out of bed and pads back over to the armoire. "What colour do you think I should wear?"

"What about red?" Thor asks, rolling onto his stomach to look over at Loki. "It would compliment your skin very well."

"You only say that because it will compliment you," Loki points out with a little smile, but he obligingly pulls out a red dress, steps into it, and wraps it up over himself like a present. The dress sags around his chest with the lack of flesh, and he frowns at himself before flicking his wrist upwards. Thor watches with amusement - and just the slightest tinge of arousal - as Loki grows breasts and they fill out the fabric.

"Like this?" Loki asks, turning to walk back towards Thor, and Thor admires the tiny waist, the way Loki's hips sway enticingly as he walks. Loki climbs onto the bed again, and Thor places his hand on Loki's waist, admiring the smooth silk underneath his fingers.

"I love it on you, but I think it might be better off," Thor admits, and Loki laughs, and lets Thor reach around to undo the clasp at the back.


	104. Quab

_**Quab: **Something immature; something unfinished._

"Who would have thought the oh so great Tony Stark, Iron Man and one of the most brilliant engineers in the country, would have trouble putting together a crib from IKEA?" Pepper asks, smirking as she sits in the armchair in the nursery they'd put aside for the baby, watching Tony struggle with the wooden dowels and the instruction manual.

"To be fair," Tony points out, wiping at his brow and pushing some errant strands of dark hair away from his eyes, "it's a job for two people. Look, see." He holds up the instructions for Pepper's inspection, so she can see the two smiling people working together on the crib. She just rolls her eyes, rubs her belly pointedly, and leans back farther in the chair. It really was quite comfortable.

"I'm sure you can manage," she tells him, looking out the window at the sparkling skyscrapers of the city.

Tony glares at the instruction manual again - there was no way in hell that dowel A could fit into hole B, no goddamn way - before shrugging and turning pointedly away from the instructions, putting together parts as he saw fit.

Pepper turns back half an hour later to find that Tony has built a Gundam suit for their child. He looks extraordinarily pleased with himself, and she sighs, fighting back a smile, and tells him to take a picture. He asks why, and she tells him that the baby may not like the suit very much, and so he will have to dismantle the whole thing.

Tony pouts, but Pepper isn't swayed, so he mutters to JARVIS to save the dimensions of the crib-suit for future reference before sighing and taking it apart.


	105. Advesperascit

_**Advesperascit: **The approaching dark; the evening draws near._

"What are you still doing up?" Loki asks, rubbing his eyes of sleep as he enters the nursery to find Modi and Jory sitting by the window, looking at the brilliant colours dancing outside in the sky. "It is far past your bedtimes." Additionally, Loki has no idea how Modi managed to clamber up onto the window seat - there is no evidence of a stool or a tower of blocks to carry him up there - but he decides to leave that issue for another day. Thor is snoring away in the other room, his breaths like thunder rumbling in the far off distance, and Loki is vastly surprised yet again at how he can manage to sleep next to that great roaring beast night after night.

"Sky awake. Me awake," Modi tells him, and Loki sighs.

"I understand that your papa and I have been watching Frozen a lot recently, but you cannot use that as an excuse for staying up past your bedtime," Loki scolds mildly. Modi looks up at him impishly, and Loki can only smile and sigh.

"It is a very pretty sight, isn't it?" he asks, going over to his children and sitting down beside them, wrapping them up with him in the loose sleeves of his nightshirt.

"Why?" Modi asks, pointing out the window.

"Why?" Loki thinks for a moment. "The colours happen when solar winds hit the atmosphere and other charged particles. I believe that is the reason."

Modi and Jory look at him blankly.

"Ah," Loki laughs, pinching Modi's cheek. "it's because you're a very special boy. And you're a very special snake," he adds to Jory, who hisses contentedly and goes back to staring out the window at the bright stripes of colour dancing across the sky.


	106. Glaucous

Written to: Safe and Sound - Capital Cities, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Glaucous: <strong>Frosted; pale-bluish grey, like morning fog._

Loki likes that he can tell Thor's mood just from the colour of his eyes, prides himself on his ability to read his husband like an open book.

Bright star-blue when he is amused, or when he is playing with Modi, or when he is training with the Warriors Three and Sif. Modi likes to imitate this colour for his own eyes, and this makes Thor laugh and pinch his cheeks and tell him what a good boy he is.

Thor's irises become shot through with green when he is confused (most often when he is reading a book, Loki has noticed, although to be fair, he was not aware that The Velveteen Rabbit was particularly mentally stimulating). Loki has also seen this confusion when Thor is faced with an instruction manual for one Midgardian device or another, and would it have helped to turn the manual right side up? It most certainly would have, but Loki didn't feel obliged to tell Thor that as he watched him struggle to put together a bookcase or a table or whatnot. He would often use Mjolnir to bang in dowels and nails, much to the warhammer's displeasure, and more often than not she would leave dents in the furniture's legs in her irritation. Thor preferred to ignore these.

His eyes darken when he is sad, or when it is raining. Despite being a god of thunder, Thor does not much care for rain, and when the skies open up above them, he pouts by the window as he stares out at the wet landscape. Loki likes to tease him, then, to put him in a good humour, but Thor shakes him away sometimes and insists on sitting by the window with a Nicholas Sparks novel and a cup of tea. Loki adores the rain, but not so much the Nicholas Sparks novels.

But Loki's favourite colour is probably the grey-blue slate of Thor's eyes when he just wakes up, before he fully processes that it is another day. Loki sometimes wakes up before Thor just to watch him wake up, too; he watches from under lowered lashes as Thor's eyes open, blinking away sleep, bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh as Thor's eyes alight upon his face and those lovely grey-blue eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles.


	107. Crypotoscopophilia

_**Cryptoscopophilia: **The urge to secretly look through windows of homes as one passes by._

Steve's cotton t-shirts are big on Bucky, hanging loose around the neck and flapping in the gentle spring breeze as Steve grasps him by the hand and tells him that his ice cream is melting all over his wrist. Bucky smiles, hesitant, before leaning over and licking it off.

Steve has absolutely no idea where Bucky goes in between the times that they see each other, but he is always glad when Bucky comes back, strolling through the Tower and up to Steve's room. JARVIS has learned to recognise him, and lets him through without delay. Sometimes he bursts into Steve's room, his dark eyes confused, conflicted, troubled, and Steve wraps his arms around him and strokes his hair until he calms down. Sometimes he politely knocks, looking shyly in around the corner of the door. And other times, he strides in, confident, the Bucky that Steve remembers, a laugh around the corners of his mouth.

"You remember, we used to play here," Steve says, pointing to the newly crowded streets, filled with honking cars and brightness. "There weren't so many cars then. And we watched movies here," he points to a theater on the outskirts of downtown, at the transition where homes begin to pop up between the storefronts and parking garages. "That was back when movies were only a quarter, and we still went from movie to movie until our heads hurt."

Bucky smiles, nudges Steve in the ribs. "And you hid behind the seat when we were watching Frankenstein. I remember. And you begged me to sleep over because you were scared the monster would come to get you."

Steve laughs, reaching down and lacing Bucky's fingers with his own. "Or maybe you were the one who asked to sleep over because you were scared of the monster."

Bucky laughs freely, and Steve can't help but admire the strong line of his throat, can't help but trace the corners of Bucky's mouth, beautiful and free and unhindered by that awful mask that sits on Steve's dresser back at the tower. Steve's examined it when Bucky is still fast asleep, clinging to Steve's pillow. He can't tell what it's for, why Bucky has to wear it, can't tell who made it or why, and Bucky either doesn't remember or doesn't want to say or both.

"They turned your house into an apartment complex," Bucky says, looking over Steve's shoulder. Steve looks, recognises the street corner where he and Bucky had sat and looked up at the stars, recognises the street their footsteps had crossed to get to each others' houses, hundreds, thousands of times, years and years ago.

Steve shrugs, looks across the street at where Bucky's house still stands. The decades have been relatively kind to it, and the people that have lived there have fixed it up and repainted it so it stands on the street a fresh blue with white trim, cheerful. Two children are playing outside, a boy laughing and pushing his sister on a swing. The curtains are pulled back in the front room, and he can see a woman inside, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, fixing lunch. As they watch, the woman walks over to the window, calls through it to the children in the yard.

"It must be scary, having children," Bucky says, looking across also. "I've seen a lot of scary movies where the children are like tiny demons."

Steve grins as he wraps an arm around Bucky's shoulders.

"They're happy tiny demons," he says, pointing to the children inside, who are now eating lunch. "So they can't be all that bad."

Bucky wraps his metal arm around Steve's waist, his hand resting on Steve's left hip, and Steve smiles as he presses a kiss to Bucky's temple and tries to feel his thoughts through his skin.


	108. Yuputka

_**Yuputka: **The phantom sensation of something crawling on your skin._

"Mama?" Modi's voice is unnaturally quiet, and Thor is a heavy sleeper, but Loki presses a finger to his lips anyway, telling Modi to shush. The two of them have decided to get up to some mischief, of the most childish kind. Loki has coated Thor's palm with whipped cream (and what a struggle it was, trying to get Modi not to lick all of it off before the trick was played, the child still needed some lessons in patience and the concept of delayed gratification).

"Mama, this okay?" Modi asks, reaching out and punching Thor in the side, as if to make sure he really is sleeping. Loki pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, struggling not to laugh as Thor only grunts and slips further into sleep.

Hesitantly, Loki reaches out over Thor's nose, tickles it with a large feather. Thor twitches, muttering something about chickens crawling over his face in his sleep, before reaching up and slapping himself in the face, to rid himself of the phantom chickens that have taken up residence on his head, smearing cream all over his beard and face.

Modi cannot hold in his laughter, and he squeals in delight at the sight of his silly papa. Loki smiles at his son, ruffles his hair, and takes him by the hand to lead him to the kitchens for a midnight snack, leaving Thor with cream-smeared face still fast asleep.


	109. Aeipathy

_**Aeipathy: **An enduring and consuming passion._

"You really rather enjoy sex, don't you?" Loki asks Thor mildly after the fourth night in a row Thor has thrown him down into the sheets and proceeded to ravish him. Four times in a row has Loki tried to protest, claiming that he is tired, that is not feeling well, and four times Thor has pouted before making up his mind to ravish Loki anyway.

"It isn't as if you do not, fairest," Thor points out, rolling onto his side, his chest still heaving like a winded bull after a rodeo. "As I seem to recall, one of your favourite words is 'more.'"

Loki rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore this truth.

"I find it hard to believe that you have not yet tired of me," Loki says jestingly, nudging Thor in the ribs. Thor smiles exhaustedly, good-naturedly up at him. "It's been centuries now."

"Aye, centuries, and every time feels somewhat like the first," Thor says, tracing a finger across the sharp slope of Loki's hip, dipping his fingers down into the slick wetness of Loki's cunt and rubbing slightly. Loki shivers weakly, attempts to bat Thor's hand away to no avail. "And, of course, you enjoy changing yourself from time to time for my pleasures."

"They are for my own," Loki says stubbornly, but he cannot stop the tiny whimper that cracks from his throat as the tip of Thor's index finger skips across his clit. "I can get you deeper this way."

"Ah, is that right?" Thor asks, smiling. "How interesting. Perhaps you shall have to bewitch me one of these days. So that I may feel this as well. It might truly be a shame to sail off to Valhalla without that experience."

Loki looks at him. Finds he is serious.

"You are certain?" he asks, incredulous. "You would wish that?"

Thor shrugs, patting at Loki's thigh. "Of course. Why would I not? It would be you, after all."

And because it is not something that Thor would admit easily, and because Loki already knows the required seidr, Loki acquiesces, muttering a few words. Unfortunately, Thor's wandering touch rubs the heel of his hand deep and smooth over Loki's cunt, and a moan breaks out of Loki's throat at a crucial part in the enchantment. Thor winces as the sparks of seidr crackle against his thighs, and, once the miniature puff of smoke has cleared, looks down to find that Loki has transformed his crotch into an ear of corn.

Loki can only smile and laugh and make halfhearted promises to change it back.


	110. Smultronställe

_**Smultronställe:** Literally, "place of wild strawberries;" a special place discovered, treasured, returned to for solace and relaxation; a personal idyll free from stress or sadness._

Jory slithers through the cool grass, his tongue flicking from side to side as he wriggles his way through the green blades. He's escaped Modi's attempt at a tea party (and what exactly was the large pink buffoon putting in those cups, Jory really would like to know, but whatever it was didn't look particularly safe or edible; the other, larger blonde pink buffoon seemed to enjoy it, so that pretty much clarified its existence as the most dangerous of poisons).

He looks up as a giant shadow falls across his beady eyes. A horsy face looks down at him. Jory hisses, but his older brother, Sleipnir, just rolls his eyes and snorts back at him before going off to munch at a particularly sweet patch of grass a few meters away. Sleipnir thought his younger siblings were rather odd, short of far too many legs, and Jory just thought that all of his siblings were odd, limbed as they were. As such, Sleipnir did not have much interaction with Modi or Jory, although Modi had once tried to ride him. Sleipnir had protested at this, and Loki accepted the fact that Sleipnir was going through a rebellious phase and kindly took Modi off of Sleipnir's back before the eight-legged horse tried to buck him off.

Jory continued on his way, scenting the air which is heavily laden with the smell of sweet peas ripening. Eventually he pops into a little cool clearing, the veiny undersides of light green leaves shading him from the bright sun overhead. He curls himself around a wooden stick, his tongue flicking at the air as he examines a pea pod and nibbles on the edge of it, tugging and tearing. Bright green ovals spill out, and Jory joyfully dives down after them, burrowing himself into the cool soil as he swallows down his treats.

Idunn finds him a few hours later, curled up and snoozing, his tiny neck a smooth necklace of peas.


	111. Asterismos

_**Asterismos: **"Marking with stars;" a word that gives weight or draws attention to the words that follow; related to asterism, a constellation or a starlike figure of light._

Don't get him wrong, Loki absolutely adores that Modi takes after him. Loves the little twinkle of mischief his son gets in his eyes, loves the little dimple that appears at the corner of his mouth when he has played a delightful prank (namely, hiding spiders in Loki's clothes and Thor's hair; Loki almost passed out when he saw the huge tarantula Modi had hidden in Thor's mane the night before, which had decided to make its appearance the following morning, crawling over Thor's face as he ate his porridge).

He likes the baby blue nuance of Modi's skin that the child sometimes gets when he is sleeping, frost reaching out over his skin and turning his rosy cheeks a deep purple.

But apparently, Modi takes after him more than he previously thought, he thinks to himself as he sits at the tiny table Modi had pushed over by the window. Thor is having a harder time of it, his knees knocking under the table with every breath, and Modi stops to scold his papa for his clumsiness as he threatens to knock over the teapot yet again.

Loki fervently wishes he could have followed Jory's quick escape out the window, but as it is, he finds himself stuck at Modi's tea party. And he most certainly does not want to know what exactly is in that teapot.

"Mama, dwink." Modi's tiny voice is a command, and Thor laughs, nudging Loki in the side. Loki grimaces at the dark, thick liquid in his porcelain teacup. Thor had been drinking copious amounts of the stuff, praising Modi's ability to throw a party, but Loki still had his doubts.

"Why?" Loki asks his son. "If I drink this, then there'll be less for your papa and you, and you two seem to enjoy it."

Modi screws up his face, thinking hard.

"You wuv me," he says after a moment. "Mama wuv me."

"Yes, this is true," Loki concedes. "And it's because Mama loves you that I want you and papa to have my tea instead."

"Want Mama to dwink," Modi commands, pushing the teacup over to nudge against Loki's wrist. "Mama wuv me."

Loki sighs, pinches Thor's thigh under the table at the thunderer's bark of laughter, and holds his breath as he lifts the cup to his mouth, swallowing quickly and sputtering and coughing as whatever is inside the cup burns at the back of his throat. He runs to the bath and coughs the rest of it into the sink.

Modi toddles after him a moment later, patting at Loki's knee, and telling him what a good mama he is.

Loki just frowns, wondering when his son got so manipulative, and continues trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.


	112. Eudaimonia

Written to: Forget You - Cee-Lo Green, crosspost from AO3

****Because Spider-Man is technically part of the Avengers in the Marvel universe, though he's owned by Sony now...and also because I just saw The Amazing Spider-Man 1 + 2 yesterday. No spoilers for them, since they came out recently.****

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><p><em><strong>Eudaimonia<strong>_: _Literally, "human flourishing." A contented state of being happy and healthy and prosperous._

"Hey, Tony, what are these?" Peter asks, holding up a brightly coloured orange slice. Peter had never seen oranges quite like these, with segments of all colours, blood red, lime green, deep blue, but he supposed that Tony was a highly sophisticated billionaire operating in the highest echelons of society, so perhaps he had access to some rare fruits that Peter had never seen before.

"Those are Jell-O shots," Tony tells him, looking over at Peter. "For the party later tonight. Don't touch them, I'm far from condoning illegal activities unless I'm the one doing them."

"Why can't I have one?" Peter wants to know. He is meeting Gwen in about three minutes, and he thinks she'd enjoy one.

"They're nasty, disgusting adult things," Tony says, waving him away. "Are you going out? You look like you're going out."

"I'm going to have ice cream with Gwen in Central Park," Peter tells him, sneaking a few orange slices into a Ziploc bag, which he quickly stuffs in his backpack when Tony isn't looking.

"Okay," Tony says, distractedly running his hands through his hair and going through some sort of agenda. "Just remember curfew is at eleven."

Peter rolls his eyes, sticks his tongue out at Tony behind his back. "But Tony -" he begins to protest.

"You're underage. Curfew at eleven," Tony tells him firmly, and Peter would never admit that he was pouting, that the great Spider-Man had a curfew, but there wasn't much he could do about it, he supposed.

He leaves Tony distracted by some grown-up things, and rappels down the side of the Avengers Tower to find Gwen.

* * *

><p>"These are disgusting," Gwen says, making a face as she sucks on a bright green orange slice. "What's in them?"<p>

"I don't know," Peter admits, running a hand through his hair and smiling at her. "But Tony said I shouldn't touch them, so, of course I had to. And I thought you might like them, they're pretty, kind of like you."

Gwen rolls her eyes at him, tosses the orange rind in the trash. "I can't believe you're comparing me to an orange slice."

Peter smiles and runs to catch up to her.


	113. Dozakh

Written to: I'm The Man - Aloe Blacc, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Dozakh: <strong>A place of torment one believes they are in when they are separated from their lover; hell._

Loki is used to waking up and finding Thor missing, off on some mission with his Avenger friends on Midgard or training in the woods of Asgard or on some other voyage. However, he is also used to Thor leaving him a little note, slid in with his morning honeycakes or crinkled in Modi's fat fist, to tell him where he would be going and when he would be coming back. So, it is quite a surprise when Loki wakes up to find Thor's side of the bed empty and no note in apparent sight.

He waits a bit, wondering to himself where Thor has hidden the note (he even examines Modi's teeth for scraps of paper, just to check if the child had eaten his father's words; he hadn't, and Loki had received a bite on his wrist for his efforts).

As night falls, he worries at his lip and pouts and sulks, but Thor isn't there to see it, and he doesn't have anybody to complain to.

The second day without Thor, Loki frets and paces, and even ends up begging Heimdall to open the Bifrost to Darcy. He summons her up to Asgard, where he talks her ear off with his worries and troubles in between bites of red velvet cupcakes she had been carrying in a pink box when she was abruptly swirled up into the skies.

"These are quite good," he tells her, crumbs spilling across his lap, and Darcy only sighs, pillows her head in her hands, and dozes off to the sounds of Loki's worrying.

The third day, Loki almost brings down Manhattan with his abrupt landing in Midgard. He had miscalculated his landing, and instead of being directed to the Tower's helipad, had dropped straight into Peter Parker's backyard. His Aunt May had fainted, and Peter had come running out, and had almost fainted upon seeing Loki. Loki had never met the boy before, but had seized him, and had throttled him in an attempt to find out where Thor was. Peter had had no idea, and it took many protests and a disgruntled Gwen beating Loki over the head with a feather duster before he let the boy go and stumbled away, crying.

And so, the fourth day of Thor's disappearance dawns, and everybody in Asgard is pointedly avoiding Loki, ducking behind curtains and corners and cabinets in order to avoid him and his relentless anxiety. None of the rest of the Asgardians appear to be worried about Thor's whereabouts, sure that the thunderer would pop out from wherever he was rather soon. Loki scowls, doesn't eat breakfast, and stalks down to the dungeons to find a trapped prisoner who would have no choice but to listen.

Much to his surprise, Loki finds Thor down there in the dungeons, looking sheepishly out at him from behind a force field.

"What in the Nine are you doing here?" Loki asks, dumbfounded, just short of slapping himself to convince himself he isn't dreaming.

"I came to see Malekith. You know, he can get quite lonely," Thor says. "And...I suppose I tripped. And fell in."

Loki scoffs in disbelief. "You mean to say you broke through a force field set up by Heimdall himself. One that resists all sorts of damage and seidr. And you just...fell in."

"That is exactly what happened," Thor says, smiling brightly. "And I wish to be let out now."

Loki gapes at him, before rolling his eyes. "I was worried about you!" he snaps, crossing his arms.

"Oh, that's sweet of you," Thor says, grinning. "I have missed you as well. These cells are not very welcoming, especially for one who cannot magick things into existence such as myself. As such, I would wish for the comforts of my own bed. And a ham. Or six. I am quite famished."

Loki just scoffs, crosses his arms, and begins to walk away.

"Wait! Loki, fairest," Thor pleads, tapping on the walls of the force field and scurrying along to follow Loki. "Aren't you going to let me out?"

"You can wait a few more days," Loki tells him, before walking off.


	114. Colposinquanonia

Written to: Cath - Death Cab For Cutie, crosspost from AO3

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><p><em><strong>Colposinquanonia: <strong>Judgment of a woman's attractiveness based on her chest._

"I have absolutely no interest in going to this fashion show of yours," Helblindi protests, even as Darcy pushes him out the door, the tickets to the Victoria's Secret Spring Fashion Show clutched in her hand.

"Nonsense. All guys love it," she exclaims as she pushes him down the stairs and hails a taxi. "You'll like it. There's lots of pretty girls there in underwear. You'll like it, trust me."

"You're the only girl I like," he begins to say, but his words are drowned out by the sharp noises of squealing brakes as a taxi squeezes itself between two sedans amidst much honking and pulls up to the curb in front of them. "You're the only girl I like in underwear," he grumbles even as she pushes him into the taxi and he folds himself into the cramped backseat, smelling of cigarettes and trying not to touch the sticky plastic covering over the seats, trying not to wonder what that red stain is on the floor.

* * *

><p>"She's not even pretty," Helblindi complains, much to the consternation of the model in front of them. His voice could be quite piercing when he wanted it to be, and Helblindi, as the first in line to the Jotunheimr throne, had no qualms about voicing his opinions. He had already glared the people behind him into a quiet, subdued submission, when they had prodded him in the back and complained about how his height was interfering with their ability to photograph the models. He had turned around and given a look to them (one that Loki had seen and copied and perfected throughout his childhood years; it was now used quite frequently to cow Thor and Modi into frightful acquiescence to Loki's whims).<p>

"Hush up, you're hurting her feelings," Darcy mutters, jabbing him in the ribs, but secretly feeling thrilled at his commentary.

Helblindi just rolls his eyes and allows the rest of the models to strut along the catwalk unscathed except for the fierce glare of his frosty eyes.

* * *

><p>As they sit sipping at chai teas and nibbling at meringues after the show in a nearby cafe, Darcy asks him why he doesn't find the other girls pretty.<p>

"They have big boobs," she points out. "Or if they're not big, at least they're nice. Perky." She squishes her fingers together in a honking motion, and Helblindi just rolls his eyes and pops another meringue into his mouth.

"So?" he asks. "You'd freeze those off in Jotunheimr in no time at all, and especially in those outfits they were wearing. Who wears trailing coats without chemises underneath? Barbarians, that's who."

Darcy rolls her eyes and laughs.

"And I still firmly hold by what I said earlier," he mutters through a mouthful of crumbs.

"Pardon?" she asks him. "What did you say earlier? I must have missed it."

Helblindi flushes scarlet, squeezes his fingers together and avoids Darcy's eye.

"Oh, come on," Darcy says, laughing some more. "Tell me! I command you."

"The audacity," Helblindi gasps, mocking. "A simple Midgardian telling a prince of Jotunheimr what to do. How dare you?" he says, but there is the hint of a smile around his mouth as he leans over and pinches her cheek.

As she cleans up the table and slips a five under her empty mug, he hails a taxi. She comes up beside him, slips her hand into his, and begs him to repeat what he had said.

"I said, you're the only girl I like," he tells her, and she smiles and hugs him. He continues, "Furthermore, you're the only girl I like in underwear," but his words are drowned out by the sound of squealing brakes yet again, and he only returns her hug, presses her into the cab, and tells her that he will tell her later.


	115. Franch

_**Franch: **To eat greedily and at great speed._

Loki watches in disbelief as Thor crams ham after ham into his mouth, barely pausing to swallow and pull the bones out of his teeth. Volstagg claps Thor on the back and tells him that he is finally eating like a real warrior should; Loki just rolls his eyes and thinks it quite a miracle that the livestock populations of Asgard haven't gone extinct by now, what with Volstagg and Thor and their constant feasting. The Jotunheimr frost chicks have also taken quite a liking to the meat, and several cling to Thor's arms and elbows, leaping up from the table with little cheeps to tear off tiny beakfuls of ham before Thor can stuff the whole thing into his mouth. Thor just brushes them aside and sets them down on the table; Sif scoops up three or four in the cradle of her hands and coos at them, laughing as they peck at her fingers and thumbs.

"Oh, for the Norns, please don't do that," Loki scolds his son, who is attempting to imitate his father and shove a whole drumstick into his mouth. "Small bites, please."

"Papa do it!" Modi protests, flailing his limbs and looking at his father, recently returned from the dungeons.

"Yes, yes, but you see, your papa is quite the barbarian," Loki tells him, taking the drumstick from his son and cutting it into perfectly manageable pieces. "You are a son of mine, and I will not tolerate such behaviour from you."

Jory peeks from around the gravy boat, where he is in the process of trying to swallow a whole tea egg. Upon seeing that Loki has not seen him yet, and is not paying any attention at all to him, Jory turns back to his prize, unhinges his jaws, and gulps it down.

Upon finding him later, Loki just sighs, stuffs the baby snake into the folds of his sleeve, and gives him a stern lecture about the perils of choking.


	116. Sarang

Written to: Glory - Radical Face, crosspost from AO3

I may be infrequently posting for the next few days (as in, not everyday) because I'm travelling abroad. Furthermore, if for whatever reason, AO3/FF is blocked in the country I'll be going to (which I kind of doubt, but I'm not excluding the possibility), then I will not be posting for the next 2 months. But hopefully this isn't the case. Either way.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sarang: <strong>Love; literally: "I wish to be with you until death."_

Clint practices reading his vows in front of the gilt-edged floor length mirror that resides in the corner of his and Natasha's bedroom, trying to prepare a typical speech for a ceremony that is anything but typical. The crumpled paper he holds in his hands has been folded once, twice, three thousand times it feels like, with blots of ink and smudges of charcoal and crossings-out and scribblings in the margins.

He doesn't feel like there are words to describe her, to describe them, but he tries anyway, tries to draw his feelings in syllables and sentences that do her absolutely no justice.

"You have been my best friend, my best love, my best confidant, my best challenge," he says quietly, so as not to wake Natasha, who is still asleep, one hand thrown over the comforters and cherry red curls corkscrewing over the pillows. He frowns, wondering if he ought to leave the last part out.

Natasha, who has been awake for a good fifteen minutes now, listens to him muttering to himself and smiles into her pillows.


	117. Sphallolalia

_**Sphallolalia: **Flirtatious talk that leads nowhere._

"I've told you, time and time again, Thor," Loki says, swatting away Thor's questing fingers that have yet again managed to stray to Loki's side of the bed, "it is far too hot for these sorts of activities."

Asgard is going through a heat spell at the moment, and Loki has taken to cuddling up with a block of ice shipped in from Jotunheimr, much to Thor's consternation. What was worse was that Loki also didn't want to do anything physical, which encompassed quite a few of Thor's favourite activities.

"It might help you to talk pretty to me," Loki says, smirking at the grimace that rolls over Thor's face. Thor, for all his might and prowess on the fields of battle, has the uncanny ability to bungle a sentence of more than four or five words when put on the spot, without fail.

"Fairest," Thor begins, and Loki tries to ignore the puppy-ish whine that has crept into his voice. "I would wish to have you."

Loki snorts and turns back to his magazine. "I believe you'll have to try much harder than that, love."

"Cupcake?" Thor tries, beseeching, and Loki snorts.

"An overrated pet name," he says. "Although I would not mind a lemon cupcake right about now, but alas, I have already brushed my teeth."

"I could get you cupcakes," Thor offers. "And then we might make love."

"Perhaps," Loki agrees noncommittally, and no sooner has the word left his lips than Thor jumps out of the bed and hurries off to the Bifrost, hopping into his pants along the way.

* * *

><p>Thor comes back from Midgard laden down with several pink boxes of cupcakes, and Loki demolishes them with glee. Upon Thor reaching out for him again, Loki tells him to go get him a frappuccino, and then he will reconsider.<p>

As Thor hurries off to the Bifrost again, Loki licks a smear of frosting off his finger and grins as he rolls around in the cold sheets.


	118. Recumbentibus

Greetings from Taiwan! :)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Recumbentibus: <strong>The knockout or ending blow, physical or verbal. The final, winning argument._

The first time Loki tak**e**s Modi to a mall is also quite possibly the last time. At least, for the foreseeable future.

Modi runs from storefront to storefront, pressing his nose and hands up against the glass to stare at the mannequins within, his little sneakered feet squeaking along the checkered tiles. Loki is, quite understandably, horrified about germs and whatnot, but Modi is too fast for him to catch and scrub down with wet wipes in between each store, and Thor just laughs, shifts the sizable load of shopping bags Loki has acquired to his other hand, and tells Loki that Modi is just doing what children do.

Modi loses whatever sense of composure he had left upon seeing a toy shop at the end of the row of stores. He squeals in delight and totters towards it, weaving and ducking through people's legs, and Loki makes apologies and shoulders people aside in order to catch up to his son.

"Mama! Want dis!" Modi shouts, his tiny voice almost deafening in the small, overly bright and colourful space. "Want dis! And dis! And dis!"

Loki has to draw the line at bubble gum candy cigarettes. Not even Modi's pout, so like his own, can sway him.

"But why, Mama?" Modi asks, stubbornly clinging to the white packet. "Why no?"

Loki tries a variety of excuses, but Modi refuses to listen to reason, and it is too cramped and too bright and Loki's head is starting to hurt.

"Because I said so!" Loki says, frowning and giving Modi a Look. Modi pouts again, but deposits the white packet back where it belongs and goes to tug on Thor's jeans to try to reason with him instead.


	119. Eremophobia

**_Eremophobia: _**_The deep fear of stillness, solitude, or deserted places._

The singular frost chick that had managed to wriggle into Darcy's handbag and transport itself to Midgard with her had eaten through half her apartment in its quest for blood. Darcy had resorted to surreptitiously dropping the chick behind the deli case when she went grocery shopping and picking it back up after she was finished, during which time the chick would have managed to devour at least half of the sliced meats and a good portion of potato salad.

And because Darcy really does not want to lose all of her couch, she calls up Helblindi for damage control.

"My God," Helblindi mutters as he approaches the chick, holding a stool in front of him like a lion tamer. "What exactly did you let it get into?" The frost chick, exactly the same size as it had been before, cheeps angrily at him and snaps its little beak. One would never have expected it capable of such destruction.

"It likes to eat," Darcy says helplessly, holding up her hands and holding a thumb over the dial button of her mobile, to call 911 in case it is absolutely needed. Helblindi is wresting the chick into a little muzzle, and his hands are already bleeding something fierce. "It loves potato salad. I've named it Henry."

Helblindi rolls his eyes, glares at the little chick who is trying to gnaw through the muzzle.

"Why did you keep it?" he asks after catching his breath. "You could have let it loose to wreak destruction, or if you just wanted to be a nice citizen, you could have released it into Australia. I hear that particular landmass has all sorts of vicious creatures."

Darcy shrugs. "I get lonely sometimes, when you're not here," she says, as if this explains everything. "Henry reminds me of you. Kind of. I mean, if you were a bloodthirsty fowl."

"Right. Of course," Helblindi says, still watching the subdued chick warily. "Hopefully he has not killed anyone yet. That would be a real problem. Frost chickens are nigh impossible to control once they first taste human flesh."

Darcy, unable to help it, lets out a giggle, and Helblindi wraps her in his arms and ponders over her questionable sanity.


	120. Eleutheromania

**_Eleutheromania: _**_An intense and irresistible desire for freedom._

The chick cheeps furiously from behind its silver gilded cage. Apparently frost chickens, like werewolves, couldn't bear the touch of silver. Helblindi scoffs at it and continues to hold the cage at arms length as the chick tries to gnaw on the silver bars and scrunches its face up in distaste.

He'd made a quick stop by Asgard to see his youngest brother, see how he was getting on (and to ask him what Darcy might like as a 6-month present), and as it was, Loki had been leaving at the time, and had directed Helblindi to the nursery to spend some quality time with his nephew.

Modi, at present, was emulating the chick and trying to crawl out of his padded playpen, and Helblindi frowns down at his nephew.

"Want go out!" Modi says, rattling the bars of his pen and looking for all the world like he wants to chew through the bars with his little white teeth (as sharp as a demon's, Helblindi thinks, speaking from past experience). "Want go out!" he shrieks even louder, as if it were possible Helblindi had not heard him the first time.

The chick cheeps even louder, angrier, and in turn, Modi begins to demand his liberty in an even louder voice. They take turns like this until Helblindi is really quite surprised the windows in the nursery haven't shattered yet, and he has a fierce migraine pounding its way through his head.

He sighs, puts down the caged chick, and rubs his temples in exasperation and hopes Loki is going to return soon.


	121. Pareidolia

_**Pareidolia**: The instinct to seek familiar forms in disordered images like clouds or constellations; the perception of random stimulus as significant._

Loki has yet to return from wherever he has popped off to, and Helblindi is currently wishing for the sweet release of death, if only to get his nephew and that accursed poultry to just stop squeaking indignantly and trying to see who could shout over the other. Helblindi had considered banging his head against the wall several times in order to knock himself out, but, he mused to himself, the nursery was really quite tastefully done, with seafoam-coloured walls and a nice, thick creamy carpet. His little brother did have quite good taste, and what a shame it would be if he cracked the paint or damaged the walls in his attempts.

"Where Mama?" Modi asks Helblindi, reaching a pudgy arm through the bars of his playpen and swatting ineffectually at Helblindi's knee. "Where?"

Helblindi sighs, frowns at his nephew, but clearly Modi has built up a resistance to jötunn disapproval, and is completely undisturbed by it.

And when Helblindi doesn't answer him, Modi scrunches up his face and begins to shriek in disapproval, rocking back and forth and looking for all the world like a victim of demonic possession, a tiny blonde Satan to rule over the world.

Helblindi finds himself thinking that he can never have children (or, if he does, Darcy will have to take care of them, because he just cannot deal with this), finds himself staring at the aurora borealis outside and straining his eyes, hoping beyond hope that one of the glowing shafts of light will signify Loki's return.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, when Loki comes back from Midgard, he finds Helblindi with ruffled hair and a panic-stricken, shell-shocked look on his face, rocking in the corner and muttering about devils.<p> 


	122. Atermoiements

_**Atermoiements**: Distractions or hesitations leading to procrastination._

As part of his inevitable ascent to the throne, Thor has been enrolled in a few classes. On Midgard, one might call them Micro/Macroeconomics, International Relations, and Foreign Policy. On Asgard (or probably, just to Thor) they were Wastes of Time 1, 2, and 3, respectively. He didn't have much interest in foreign relations with Nibelheim or what he ought to do if an ambassador from Svartalfheim were to show up demanding political asylum.

However, his hopeful answer of throwing said ambassador into the dungeons until some well-meaning person came to fetch them was apparently not a good solution.

His teacher is an old man, prone to quaffing copious droughts of prune juice and enlightening Thor about the nature of his bowel movements. Unfortunately, this isn't of much interest to Thor either, and he usually spends his lesson times staring off into space or doodling in the margins of his notes.

And then there is the homework. Thor personally thinks it an injustice.

"Just do it!" Loki tells him, sighing and rolling his eyes as Thor pouts at him from across the big desk in the library where he is struggling to work out optimal trading ratios of ice to wheat. Did people on Jotunheimr even eat wheat? Thor wanted to know. He'd personally never seen Laufey eat anything other than meat and sugar. Sometimes at the same time. "I won't always be around to help you with these things."

"You won't be?" Thor asks, looking confused. "Where will you go?"

Loki sighs impatiently, shoves the lesson back towards Thor. "Just do your work. Otherwise you will never learn how to be a good king."

"But surely it has always been a dream of yours to be ruler of some realm, has it not?" Thor asks, frowning at his paper and hoping the problem would just somehow, miraculously, go away. "You could do it in my stead."

Loki snorts. "I think it is a well known fact that ruling a realm is not a fun task. Which is why," he pushes the page back towards Thor, who had been hesitantly pushing it, centimeter by centimeter, towards Loki's side of the table, in the hopes that he would not notice, "I would much rather be married to a ruler than actually be one. All of the status and power, none of the responsibility."

"I see," Thor says, pouting at the question, but Loki is not to be swayed.

The two sit in silence for a few minutes, Thor staring absentmindedly at the curve of Loki's mouth, his homework all but forgotten, until Loki sighs very loudly and gets up to move towards a more comfortable armchair by the library fire.

This does not deter Thor, who continues to stare at the back of Loki's head, imagining dark hair splayed out all over a pillow in reckless abandon, and the next day when his tutor asks him to produce his homework, he can only produce a blank page and a smattering of apologies and promises to have it be done by the next day.


	123. Sitooterie

_**Sitooterie**: A place to sit outside in, as a gazebo. Or, a secluded corner to take your partner during a dance._

"I can't believe you're making me go out with you, not when I'm as big as a house," Pepper protests as Tony comes back to the secluded corner of the ballroom, bearing cups of nonalcoholic sparkling cider and a plate of cheesecake for her. "And this certainly isn't going to help me be not as big as a house," she adds, but she has already gotten to work on the cake.

Tony laughs, sitting down beside her, watching the other dancers at Stark Industries's 50th anniversary swirl around the ballroom. "I wouldn't say you're as big as a house," he tells her, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek. "Perhaps a small condo. A studio apartment, if I were really trying to be flattering."

Pepper pinches him, and he just smiles good-naturedly, taking a sip of his nonalcoholic cider.

"Have you thought about any names for her yet?" Pepper asks in a lull where the orchestra is still rifling through its sheets for its next number and dancers are traipsing onto and off of the ballroom floor, to mingle and chat in the punch line or hide themselves in the shadows in the corners of the room for little, quick trysts. "She's not just going to wait forever."

"I was thinking Antonia was a good name," Tony begins, and Pepper only laughs and pinches him again.


	124. Kummerspeck

_**Kummerspeck: **excessive weight gained due to stress eating. _

A few weeks before their wedding, much to Natasha's horror, she steps into her dress, tugs it up, and finds that it is just the tiniest bit too tight around her ribcage. Clint, when called in to inspect, tells her that it looks nice, that she looks like a ripe fruit, and since that is completely unhelpful, Natasha pushes him out of the way and dashes to the bathroom and the scale, which confirms in gleeful red digits that she has indeed put on a few pounds.

"What am I supposed to do?" she sobs tearfully a few minutes later, after Clint has so kindly unlaced her and the dress is sitting in a heap of lace and satin on the floor. "It's going to be my first wedding and I can't fit into my dress!"

Clint chooses not to say anything about her choice of words ("First wedding?" he wanted to say. "Don't you mean your only wedding?") and instead pats her on the head.

"And you!" she shouts all of a sudden, pushing away from him and looking at him as though he's taken her firstborn and eaten it in front of her. "You let me gain weight!"

"I, uh, excuse me?" he asks, befuddled as she grabs him by the front of his shirt and tugs him to standing with a strength born from rage.

"You let me eat all that cake!" she roars, and Clint is rather quite surprised that she hasn't managed to shatter the glass windows that frame the Avengers Tower. "I bet this was your plan all along! Oh, here Natasha, just try this one, you want to be sure to get the right flavour for the wedding cake. It was you, this whole time!"

Clint begins to protest, but she smacks him across the face and tells him, chest heaving, to assume his position. Her tone brooks no position for argument, and Clint just shrugs and gets on his knees while Natasha runs over to their toy chest and rummages through it with a look of half-crazed glee on her face.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, after Clint's entire body is sore and covered with raised welts from where Natasha has flogged him, she cuddles up next to him in bed, slicked with sweat, and tells him that she's figured out a brilliant weight-loss strategy.<p> 


	125. Vernorexia

_**Vernorexia**: A romantic mood inspired by spring._

"A-choo!"

Another of Thor's great sneezes jolts Loki awake, and he rolls over to glare at the itchy blonde behemoth beside him.

"By the Norns, I swear I could hear the west wing falling down," Loki grumbles, and Thor looks at him apologetically.

"Sorry for waking you, dearest," Thor mumbles, his voice all clogged and stuffy. "It's just, Asgard has never had quite such a profusion of blooms as it has now, and I am afraid I am not coping with it very well."

Another sneeze has Loki convinced the entire castle will soon start crumbling beneath their feet. Modi wakes in the next room, and begins to cry. Thor roars back that he is really quite sorry. Modi refuses to acknowledge this sniffly apology.

Loki sighs, pulls his pillow over his head, and rolls over, pointedly trying to get back to sleep as Thor clambers out of bed with a great effort and goes to soothe the crying child.

The sudden silence is lovely, and unfortunately far too short-lived. Loki has even started to doze off again, when all of a sudden...

"Ah-choo!"

This sneeze is so powerful that Loki is actually jolted out of bed; if it had been an earthquake on Midgard, Loki was sure no less than three-quarters of New York would have tumbled down, reinforced foundations or no.

Rubbing his sore bottom, Loki frowns in Thor's general direction, and begrudgingly heads off to the kitchens to brew some peppermint tea for his ailing husband.


	126. Backpfeifengesicht

_**Backpfeifengesicht**: A person who needs to be slapped; literally, "a face that needs a fist in it." A bit of a spoiler for The Amazing Spider-Man 2, kind of._

Peter sweeps Gwen into his arms and makes her face the bridge all strung with spiderweb, despite the death grip she has on his forearms (is she drawing blood? he wonders vaguely, as her nails dig into his skin) and her loud protests that she doesn't like being so high up, it's dangerous, they could fall, blah blah blah -

"Look, it says I love you, Gwe -" And then Peter stops, his mouth open in abject horror.

Gwen, cracking open an eye to look, sees the writing and gapes.

"You...you spelled my name wrong," she says in disbelief, reaching up and rubbing her eyes, all thoughts of danger forgotten as she lets go of Peter's forearms. "You spelled my name wrong!" she shouts, when, upon blinking, it really is true.

"Peter Parker!" she roars, and though they are hundreds of feet up from any other person, Peter thinks that all of Manhattan can surely hear her strident tones. "You. Spelled. My. Name. Wrong!" She punctuates each word with a stab of her perfectly French-manicured fingernail into his chest.

"I suppose now wouldn't be the time to ask you kindly if you might change your name to Gwem," Peter says, trying to make light of the situation, but Gwen is not amused.

She slaps him, and with a spinning momentum, whirling like a top, they both fall off the tower. As they rocket earthward, Gwen's screams and death threats in his ears and her fingernails definitely drawing blood on Peter's arms, he can only smile, press a hand to his cheek, and think about how lucky he is.


	127. Aspectabund

_**Aspectabund**: Letting or being able to let expressive emotion show easily through one's face and eyes._

Loki is not at all amused when Thor comes back to their chambers, clutching a failed Foreign Policy exam to his chest. The tutor, likewise, had also been distinctly unamused by Thor's answers.

"By the Norns, Your Grace!" the wizened old man had squeaked, nearly toppling himself off his chair in the process. "You cannot just say that you would feed dissenters copious amounts of this Midgardian invention you call cheesecake and hope they will comply with your wishes!" Thor had been disgruntled at this, and was about to go down to Manhattan and order however many cheesecakes it took for the old codger to see what powers that fine Midgardian delicacy possessed.

"I will not write your paper for you!" Loki says, pushing the prompt away with a disgruntled look on his face. "I was not the one that failed that test; furthermore, I believe one of your fellow Avengers' uncles enjoys the saying that with great power comes great responsibility, although, looking you over, I have to wonder if you are capable of possessing either of these qualities."

Thor pouts. "That particular uncle is dead," he points out.

Loki scoffs, rolling his eyes and flapping his hands at the paper, which Thor has miraculously managed to slip into Loki's personal space. "Lovely for him," Loki says, pushing the paper back towards Thor. "And you must admit, your answer was quite stupid. Some people are not fond of cheesecake."

This brings Thor's attention back towards the problem at hand, and an idea begins to formulate somewhere in the recesses of his brain.

Keeping his mouth firmly closed so he will not betray himself, Thor turns on his heel and walks - almost runs - out of the room, leaving Loki with a bemused expression on his face.

* * *

><p>Loki returns from the library to find that every available surface in his and Thor's chambers has been covered with cheesecake of all flavours: chocolate, peanut butter, raspberry, strawberry, anything and everything Thor had been able to get his hands on. Thor stands by the door, looking gleeful, and hands him a fork.<p>

Loki sighs, letting a little smile show, his eyes crinkling at the corners and a little dimple appearing by his mouth, and sets to work.

* * *

><p>"Your Grace, your essay is laid out very succinctly," the tutor says the next week as he pores over the paper Thor hands in. "Your points on foreign policy are quite valid, and, I must say, your writing seems to have improved tremendously between this week and last. Although, I must ask, why is your concluding paragraph smeared with whipped cream?"<p>

Thor just shrugs at him.


	128. Aleatory

**Written to: Team - Lorde, crosspost from AO3**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Aleatory<strong>: Relying on chance or an uncontrolled element in the details of life or in the creation of art. Not that Pollock's work is crap, by any means, but to be fair it does look rather randomly done._

"Nat, it's not like we need the money from the art police or whoever handles these things," Clint protests in a half-whisper as he lowers Natasha to the MoMA floor. "So I think what you must be saying is that this is your way of trying to be wild and reckless one last time before we get married," he continues. "And you don't have to do that, we can still be wild and reckless afterwards, I don't care, that would be fine, and Jesus Christ you can't just take that, that's a Pollock, are you insane, that's one of the most famous works -"

Natasha reels herself back up on the rappelling line, the painting in tow, and shushes Clint with a careful kiss.

"Hush up, you old bat," she hisses as she swings herself easily through the ceiling. "It's just for fun, and we'll return it next week. Just think about it like some very expensive, very random library book we've checked out for a bit."

Clint wants to protest, but Natasha is dragging him out of the museum and he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and lets it be.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you lost it." Clint runs his hands through his hair, making the brown strands stand up wild and ruffled. "How did you lose it, where could you possibly have put it? This room is spotless, and it's not here!"<p>

Little do either of them know that Modi had been on a rampage throughout the tower only a few hours earlier. The baby had snatched up the page of scribbles, had eyed it for approximately three seconds before fashioning a large, crude paper airplane out of it and promptly setting fire to it in the large fireplace in the living room. The tower had smelt like turpentine and burnt wax, but Natasha and Clint had just assumed that it was Tony doing something weird in his lab again.

"Don't worry, I can fix this," Natasha says, but from the look of panic on her face, Clint is beginning to have serious doubts. "Go to the store and get me tea and some Magic Markers and some of that thick parchment paper stuff," Natasha commands, and Clint squints at her sceptically but follows her orders.

* * *

><p>Clint watches with amusement as Natasha stains the paper with tea, and scribbles fiercely over the page with Magic Marker.<p>

Two hours or so later, Natasha stands up, brushing off her knees and presents the finished work to him.

"It looks like absolute crap," he says, rather truthfully, and Natasha smiles triumphantly.


	129. Clinomania

Clinomania: An excessive desire to stay in bed.

Thor tugs on Loki's exposed ankle, a strip of creamy white skin that has managed to wriggle its way out to peep provocatively at Thor from between the sheets. Loki's head, a spray of dark hair haloed around his face, seems miles away, and Thor can just make out a little twitch at the corner of Loki's mouth as Thor wraps his fingers around Loki's skin and pulls.

"Loki," he mutters, "you have to get up now, Modi is screaming bloody murder downstairs" - this is punctuated with yet another array of smashing, tinkling glass and a great uproar from the throne room - "and he's crying for you. I would highly recommend you go down, now."

Loki mumbles something into his pillow and rolls over, burrowing further into the sheets.

"I do believe Jory mistakenly ate something of Modi's. He is in a rather odd shape." The baby snake had been almost a perfectly-formed pyramid, the moment Thor had seen him last. Of course, this might have been an error in perception, as Thor had witnessed Modi picking up the snake and disposing of him promptly through an open window.

Loki mutters something else, and wriggles his head underneath the pillows to drown out Thor's words.

"He's your son." Loki's voice comes to him from a great distance, and Thor winces as the castle shakes beneath his feet.

"Why is he only my son when he does things like this?" Thor wants to know, but Loki has promptly fallen back to sleep. Thor only sighs, checks his armour for the upcoming confrontation with 'his' son, and goes downstairs.


	130. Alate

_**Alate**: Having wings; lifted up in flight._

Loki clutches a rolled up Midgardian newspaper close to his chest as he tentatively approaches the giant beast that has made up its mind to take up residence on his bedroom wall. It twitches one of its eight legs, and Loki shudders in horror as he steels himself for the inevitable confrontation.

Muttering a prayer under his breath so as not to wake Thor, who is currently being useless and asleep in their bed, Loki edges centimeter by centimeter towards the giant cockroach on their wall. My God, were these things supposed to be this big? he wonders to himself as he swallows nervously and readjusts his grip on the paper. His palms are sweaty, and the ink is rubbing off onto his skin, leaving smears of black across his fingers. How did people on Midgard ever survive past infancy? he thinks with a grimace. This thing looked like it was quite capable of murder.

He squinches his eyes shut, before summoning up all his courage and jabbing blindly at the thing with his paper.

He opens his eyes after the paper lands with a solid thwack on the wall. He gasps, his eyes widening, as he looks at the cockroach, which has apparently had wings this whole time and is now soaring gleefully around the room.

And - Loki would never admit it - but he dives into bed, dropping the newspaper by the side of the bed as he burrows under the covers with a rather undignified shriek.

Thor stirs, wakes up to his husband burrowing into his side, almost suffocating himself with the covers, and with a bemused peek under the covers - "Put them back down, you imbecile!" Loki snarls at him, his face a mixture of exasperation and dread, "It can smell fear!", Thor manages to deduce that their bedchambers have been set upon by a ferocious cockroach.

A few moments of fruitless searching later, Thor nudges Loki - still hidden under the covers - and tells him that the beast appears to have flown away.

Loki, his voice muffled by the thick covers, tells him, "Well, that's it, then, I suppose, nothing for it, we'll just have to burn the whole damned place down," and refuses to budge for the rest of the day.


	131. Feuillemort

Written to: Kill Your Heroes - Awolnation, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Feuillemort: <strong>The colour of a dying leaf._

Loki sighs lazily and fans himself ineffectively with a fanned out sheaf of papers; he was sure that whichever long dead scholar had written them was surely turning over in his grave. But as it was, the castle was far too hot for his liking, and not even a stray breeze was willing to come along and pop its head into the castle to soothe him.

Loki frowns, closes his eyes - Modi is squealing at some large bug or another he's found in the gardens, and is surely no doubt running to his mama at this very minute to show him what manner of horrific creature he has managed to unearth. Loki steels himself for the inevitable confrontation. Modi had an uncanny knack for detecting when his mama was using seidr to hide from him, by turning himself invisible or into some unassuming piece of furniture. This did not deter the child, who would just deposit the insect on said furniture and wait until Loki transformed back into himself, batting at his robes and swatting at his skin to try to get rid of the phantom sensation of a multitude of crawling legs on his skin.

The child and his newfound monster's footsteps are quickly pattering up the stone corridor, getting closer and closer to Loki.

Loki purses his mouth in distaste, closes his eyes tightly, and pictures visions of fall, cool and brisk, hands cupped around a pumpkin spice latte - no matter how that idiot Anthony Starkson made fun of him for enjoying girly drinks, they were delicious - and leaves of all colours, red and crisp and dying so beautifully, fluttering down all around him.

So lost is he in his perfect visions of autumn that when his son deposits a frighteningly huge centipede in his lap, Loki doesn't even budge an inch, doesn't even offer up so much as a twitch of his eyebrows.

Modi, confused by this, prods Loki in the thigh to make sure he is alive. When Loki still does not respond, Modi gathers up the centipede, and, still looking at him suspiciously, runs off to tell his papa that someone has made a statue of Mama.


	132. Habromania

_**Habromania: **Delusions of happiness._

Steve wakes up to find Bucky shaking and spasming in bed beside him, his brow knotted, his sleeping expression pained with furrowed brows and a tight set about his mouth. His metal arm, which Steve has come to accept easily, its weight solid in his hand much like his trusty shield, is rigid, the hand clenched in a fist, nearly ripping the cotton sheets beneath him.

Steve sighs, pulls Bucky close to him, his hold tight and secure even as Bucky twists against his grip and mutters in his sleep.

* * *

><p>Steve wakes the next morning to find Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair hanging over his face, tracing over Steve's face with his flesh hand. He pulls away when he sees Steve's eyes open, and Steve reaches up to grasp at his hand and smile encouragingly at him.<p>

"Hey, you," he says lightly, but Bucky does not return the smile.

"Hit me, will you?" he asks instead, and Steve quirks an eyebrow at him. "As hard as you can," he urges when Steve doesn't move.

"Nightmare?" Steve asks quietly, and Bucky nods, just once, before Steve punches him square in the ribs, a solid thwock of skin and muscle, and he doubles over, wheezing and clutching at his stomach.

"My God, that hurts, every time," Bucky says, but his voice isn't angry, and instead is good-natured and lighthearted. "But at least it's real. This is real. We're real. So I guess I can deal with that," he motions to the bruise starting to form on his torso.

"You wouldn't have to deal with it if you would just accept the fact that I'm not going to be going anywhere for a long, long time," Steve says, sitting up and smiling at Bucky.

Bucky rolls his eyes at the sentimentality of the moment, and tells Steve that his punches have gotten weaker, that his age is finally catching up to him, and Steve laughs without malice and throws another punch at Bucky's shoulder.


	133. Paracosm

_**Paracosm: **A detailed, prolonged imaginary world created by a child that includes human, animal, or alien creations._

"And how are you, my dear sweet little godling?" Steve asks jovially as Modi runs directly into his knee on his beeline towards the coffee table, where Pepper has laid out an assembly of cookies and crackers and juice boxes. Steve winces; leave it to Thor to produce offspring with extraordinarily hard heads, was Modi's skeleton made of concrete? It definitely felt like it. Steve refuses to believe that his 90-year-old kneecaps have anything to do with it.

"Who dat?" Modi asks, drawing up short as he sees Bucky on the couch. "Steep," he shouts up at Steve, as though it were possible Steve had not heard his bellowing from that great height, "who dat?" he insists, tugging on Steve's jeans.

"That is Bucky," Steve explains, trying to extricate Modi's nails from the thick denim, wondering if Thor or Loki had a set of child-friendly nail clippers handy. Bucky raises a hand in welcome. "He is my boyfriend. Sort of like your mama and Thor, but there's some different, ah, rules that apply to gods that allowed you to be brought about."

"Becky," Modi proclaims as he deems him safe to approach, and begins to stuff cookies into his mouth. "Becky is Steep's boyfwiend."

"It's Bucky," Bucky says, frowning as he looks at the small blonde child.

"Becky."

"Bucky."

"Becky!"

The shout Modi lets out has enough volume to fell a bull elephant, and Bucky holds his hands up in surrender.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, as Modi is scribbling with fat crayons on the coffee table (Pepper had provided him with a large pad of paper, but so far, the paper was the only thing on the table NOT drawn on; even Bucky's metal arm had not been immune to Modi's fat wax scrawls of pink and purple, and Thor was sporting a rather level, bristly, teal handlebar mustache), Loki sits down next to his son and asks him what he is drawing. Loki dodges Modi's flailing arms artfully, firmly telling the child that Mama does not need lipstick at the present moment, and certainly not in that colour of yellow.<p>

"Who is this?" Loki asks, pointing at a dark figure standing next to who he assumes is Steve. The bright red and overall patriotic appearance of the man suggested it was so.

"Dat's Becky," Modi says, arching an eyebrow at Loki as if he should have known the question all along.

"Who's Becky?" Loki asks, genuinely curious.

"Becky wears Steep's boyfwiend's skin at night," Modi says, pointing a fat green crayon at Bucky accusingly. "And she eats dwagon tails and pickles. At the same time!" This, in response to Bucky's being coerced into eating jellyfish and jalapeno rounds from the local Chinese takeout restaurant as part of his assimilation into modern American culture. The first time Steve had tried it, Tony had tricked him into believing it was linguine; afterwards, he had gone through enough milk to accompany the world's largest cookie.

Loki is, understandably, concerned about the first comment. And what was so bad about eating dragon tails and pickles at the same time? he wonders to himself. Absolutely nothing.

"What do you mean, she wears Steve's boyfriend's skin?" Loki asks cautiously. The dark figure is beginning to look positively demonic.

"She eat his awm fiwst," Modi proclaims grandly, pointing towards Bucky's metal arm. "And she has a pet whino that almost ate Gwem," he points a blue crayon towards Gwen, who smiles back at him and digs an elbow into Peter's ribs. "It was spawkly and big and mad like Mama when I hid his favouwite coat."

Modi claps his hands over his mouth at his inadvertent admission, and Loki frowns at his son before scooping him up into his arms.

"I do believe it is your bedtime, young man," he says, and Modi frowns as he is carried away, squirming over Loki's shoulder and finally flopping over, half on Loki's back, as he pouts in defeat.


	134. Gerascophobia

Written to: Red Hands - Walk Off The earth, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Gerascophobia: <strong>The fear of growing old._

Gwen sits at the dining table in the Avengers Tower with Peter, eating a quick breakfast of cereal and buttered toast before school. Peter was currently eating his way through a small country's annual food stores, claiming with a mouth full of granola that he was a growing boy and **the**Amazing Spider-man and she couldn't begrudge a superhero his daily meals, could she? Gwen had rolled her eyes as JARVIS piled more plates in front of Peter.

She watches as Steve walks into the room, grimacing with every step and limping along as he settles himself with a flinch into an empty seat at the head of the table.

"Hey, Gramps," she says, tossing him the day's newspaper. "JARVIS will have your oatmeal and prune juice ready in a second. I'll put your walker out for you before I go to school."

Steve rolls his eyes at her before flicking open the newspaper and scanning the headlines. He turns to Peter, who currently has a mouth stuffed full of French toast, before turning to Gwen and holding up the paper.

"What is this iPad?" he asks, showing her a headline regarding current sales of tablets and market competition. "It is certainly not a sanitary napkin, is it?"

Gwen rolls her eyes right back at him, before explaining what it is.

* * *

><p>As Gwen clings to Peter's chest as he rappels down the side of the Avengers Tower, she tells him, "My God, just put me in a home when I get to be that old."<p>

"Pardon?" he asks. "Steve's not that old, he's only..." A pause as he bites his lip and frowns, thinking; there was a reason Gwen was doing a summer abroad at Oxford and Peter, well, wasn't. "Oh my God," Peter mutters, swinging easily around a skyscraper, "he's practically ancient."

"I told you he was," Gwen says, her stomach leaping into her throat as Peter releases a strand of web and they freefall thirty feet before he attaches another strand to the corner of a tower; she didn't think she'd ever get used to that feeling.

"I couldn't put you in a home," he says, absentmindedly, pressing a kiss to her cheek and just barely missing the next skyscraper. "They'd kick you out the first day. Something about organising senior citizen rebellions. I can see the headlines now: 'Local Resident Starts Hunger Strike; Claims She Is Tired of Tapioca Pudding."

"Is that really what they feed old people?" Gwen asks, grimacing. "I'll have to do something about that. Maybe, invent some sort of non-aging serum thing. Or at the very least, something much tastier than tapioca pudding. Do you think I could make something like Willy Wonka's dinner gum, or whatever it was, where you chewed it and it was like a full meal? You know, where the girl turns into a blueberry."

Peter laughs. "You know I'll still love you when you're senile and decrepit, don't you?" he asks, grinning at her.

She rolls her eyes at him and punches at his chest lightly, good-naturedly. "Well, just remember you've forever consigned yourself to diaper duty, and I'll scream bloody murder and beat you over the head with my cane if I'm even the slightest bit uncomfortable," she tells him, and he can only laugh, set her gently down on the ground, and press a kiss to her forehead before running off to his first class.


	135. Piggesnye

_**Piggesnye**: "A cuckooflower;" someone who is pretty but not particularly bright._

Loki had known from the very first minute that he'd laid on Thor all those millennia ago that this bright-eyed, blonde-haired god was a few crayons short of a box, if you got his drift. What he had not known was exactly how many crayons short Thor was. If you asked Loki's opinion now, he would fix you with a firm look, and tell you that Thor would be lucky if his crayons could fill a thimble.

"How hard can it be to add numbers to 21?" Loki asks him as he looks over Thor's shoulder. Thor is frowning at the cards in front of him, his mouth moving with silent calculations as Tony waits patiently across the coffee table, a deck of cards at the ready. "My God, if you were playing with real stakes, you would most likely have lost Mjolnir by now," he tells Thor as Thor asks Tony to hit him (this had given the thunder god an endless source of amusement, and for the interest of everyone's well-being, Tony had politely but firmly told Thor that he most certainly could not be the dealer) and pushes the total over by 6. Thor pouts as Tony gathers up the cards.

"There's an idea," Tony says, raising a brow at Loki, who sneers right back; he still hadn't forgotten the Man of Iron's comment about how his helmet was rather reminiscent of some bovine animals. "I'll bet...my Ferrari."

Loki perks up at this, wipes the sneer off his face. "Your good one?" he asks cautiously. "Not the horrible grey one with the dings in its side?"

Tony rolls his eyes and asks Thor if he accepts the bet. Thor does, good naturedly, and tells Tony that he will gladly bet a few dozen golden apples from Idunn's orchards.

* * *

><p>A half hour later, Thor has lost practically everything, including the deeds to Asgard's castle (Loki hadn't been aware there were deeds), and finally tells Tony that he will bet the last precious things he has to him: Loki and the family. Tony had graciously told him that if he won the next hand, he would reclaim everything he had bet, plus Tony's good Ferrari to boot.<p>

"Oh, no, most definitely not," Loki snarls; the thought of being lashed into the Man of Iron's servitude was a horrifying thought, and Loki would much rather forego his biweekly facials than that. "You will most definitely not do that," but the two Avengers are already shaking on it, and Loki watches, horrified, as Tony begins to deal the cards with a mischievous glint in his eye, and now Loki is most definitely certain that the deck is somehow stacked.

Well, he thinks to himself, a few sparks of seidr tingling in his fingers, two could play at that game...

"Hit me!" Thor crows, as his first two cards flip over to reveal a 2 and a 9. Tony's are an ace and a nine, and he decides to stay.

Thor's next card is a 7, and any rational person would stop this madness right now, but Thor, for all his dashing good looks, has very little going on behind that thick forehead of his, and it was clear Loki would have to get himself and Modi out of this insane bet. He directs a little glimmer of seidr towards the deck while Tony isn't looking, and smiles in satisfaction as the next card is the three of clubs.

"Hi -" Thor is about to say it, and Tony's eyes are gleaming with greed, before Loki reaches over and clamps his hand over Thor's arm with a grip strong enough to leave bright white marks.

"Look," Loki hisses, "that's 21, 2 and 9 and 7 and 3, you've won, now stop, by the Nine."

Thor looks at his cards for such a long time, his brow furrowed in concentration, that Loki almost begins to wonder if he's given himself an aneurysm thinking about it.

"Oh, for the love of Hela," Loki mutters as he gets up, dusting off his knees, and snatching the keys to Tony's red Ferrari from his limp, shocked hand before storming off to the garage.


	136. Schwellenangst

**Pulling a Steve Rogers: a reference to my Strange Midgard Things series, in which Steve is prone to fainting. Quite a lot.**

**Emily: A reference to Mileage, one of my other works.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Schwellenangst<strong>: Fear of embarking on something new; fear of crossing a threshold._

Tony is in the middle of an important afternoon business meeting involving some very important members of the Russian political party (the man at the foot of the table had introduced himself as Mikhail Anasenko, although Tony was at least 87% sure that that man was actually Vladimir Putin, sans bear and AK-47) when his assistant came running in, looking harried. His brow creases in irritation; he'd told her this was a very important meeting, and surely nothing could be so important as to -

"Sir, Mr. Stark, sir, the baby, Miss Pepper, I mean, Mrs., I, she, this morning -" His assistant trips over her words, but Tony is still able to deduce her meaning.

"I'm quite sorry, gentlemen," he says, feeling the stirrings of panic in the pit of his stomach as he stands up and gathers up his files. "I believe we'll have to adjourn this meeting to a later date, I have some rather pressing family obligations at the present moment."

Tony swears he can hear not-Putin twisting off the top to a bottle of vodka before he leaves the room.

* * *

><p>There is a snarl of traffic in downtown Manhattan, and Tony gnaws on his fingernails, biting them to the quick, his toes wriggling into the carpet of his car as he eyes the traffic anxiously.<p>

Approximately ten minutes pass before he darts out of the car, ignoring his driver's shouts and protests, and runs the last mile to the hospital.

* * *

><p>At the actual hospital, upon being signed in and shooed into the delivery room, Tony pulls a Steve Rogers* and passes out the instant he sees Pepper, white gown and all, squeezing a stress ball, her face bright red as she screams at him that it's about damn time he got there.<p>

* * *

><p>Three minutes later, after being slapped and doused with a glass of cold water, Tony sits up, dazed, and manages to tug on the surgical mask and gloves before crawling over to Pepper's bedside, wobbling the whole way.<p>

"Good God, Anthony," she says, huffing and puffing in between syllables, "Vladimir Putin just couldn't wait, could he?"

"Actually, you see, that's a bit of a funny story," he says, clasping one of her hands in his, "the guy looked a lot like Vlad, but -" The rest of his words are drowned out in another frenzy of grunts and strained noises.

When she relaxes back into her reclined position, the nurses and doctor telling her that it's almost over, she fixes Tony with a glare. "And what was that fainting business about, hmm? One would never peg you for a superhero."

Clint pops his head into the delivery room to ask how it's going, and Pepper promptly throws her stress ball at him, nailing him straight in the forehead. Tony is rather impressed.

"Bruce carried me here," she snarls at him, "Hulked out and all. When there was a traffic jam in downtown and a certain someone was entertaining Communist comrades."

"Oh, so that's what the gaping hole in the lobby is -" Tony starts, but his words are drowned out yet again as Pepper clutches his hand in a death grip and screams.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, Tony watches the doctor hold up a baby - his baby, he realises with a start - bright red and wrinkly. In fact, if Tony did say so himself, she looked like a rather bloody potato. With hair.<p>

His heart drops when he realises that she isn't crying. They were supposed to cry, weren't they? - and he realises with a start that, despite all his joking and playfulness, he still cares - deeply - for this little being that he hasn't had the chance to know yet. He holds his breath.

The doctor spanks her, only once, before she unhinges that little mouth and begins to wail, displaying a perfect set of lungs with an impressive capacity. Tony falls back in his seat, and is surprised to find that he is crying.

* * *

><p>After she has been weighed and measured and cleaned, she lies wrapped up in a little white blanket in Tony's arms, glaring furiously up at him.<p>

He looks into her angry blue eyes, determined, intelligent, confident, thinks about all the names he and Pepper have come up with over the past few months, and is surprised to find that none of them seem to fit her. Paige. Lily. Katherine. He frowns, thinks for a moment, and asks Pepper what she thinks about the name Emily.*

She agrees.


	137. Naufragio

Written to: L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N. - Noah and the Whale. I will not be posting for the next few days.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Naufragio: <em>**_Literally, "shipwreck." Colloquially, a lousy party._

Of all the serum's benefits, the one downfall about it that had quickly become apparent to both Bucky and Steve was that they couldn't get drunk. Tony had thrown the present party to commemorate another year of the Avengers' union without any major accidents (it has been 365 days since the last unmanageable accident! a whiteboard in the kitchen proclaimed proudly, and Steve wondered if the "unmanageable" part had been tacked on at the last minute, because surely Electro's little fling with the New York power grid had been a one-sided affair and thus not worth counting, apparently. Pepper, who at that time had still been pregnant and prone to throwing fits about the littlest slight that might have befallen her, had sobbed for two hours about not being able to access her TiVO'd episodes of America's Next Top Model).

If Steve and Bucky had been able to become intoxicated, the party might at least have been bearable, but as it was, the two of them were currently stuck on designated Avenger duty. Bucky had complained and protested that he had every right to hole himself up in Steve's room and play with the Wii (he was quite fond of Brawl) because he, by all terms, was not actually an Avenger, Steve had given him a puppy dog look until Bucky had relented and had grudgingly agreed to help him with any disasters that might come up while the other Avengers were indisposed.

The only foreseeable disaster Bucky could see at the present moment was Electro getting rather friendly with the margarita blender. Bucky couldn't see that going very well. Blades + rather delicate parts of the male anatomy were never a good thing.

Bucky surveys the room with distaste.

Tony had ducked out early, which was understandable by all accounts, being that he had a new baby and all.

The respectable Dr. Banner (and Bucky did respect him, really) had even allowed a generous dose of brandy to be poured into his coffee mug and was sitting on the sofa with a dopey grin on his face. He didn't look in any danger of Hulking out, which Bucky was really quite grateful for. Given his present mood, if that were to happen, he wasn't sure he'd want to stop the man.

Peter and Gwen were lying slumped together in the corner, talking and laughing giddily, a half-filled bottle of chocolate cake liqueur sitting between them. Bucky sneers in their general direction. Youths.

Natasha is a classy lady, drinking martinis and popping olives into her mouth, and by all accounts doesn't appear drunk at all. Bucky looks at her with admiration. They'd had a little thing going for a while, and had parted ways amicably (honestly? the whole whips and chains things didn't really excite him), but he was glad to see she was getting on so well with her latest conquest. She'd even managed to rope the guy into marrying her, poor soul. He shoots a look at Clint, who is staggering about, a beer bottle in his hand, and doing a caricature of someone.

And Thor. And Loki. "Oh, Midgardian alcohol doesn't affect us," the gods had explained. Rather snootily on Loki's part, Bucky had thought at the time. 190 proof Everclear had sure shut them up, he thought now, at the two gods laughing giddily and necking drunkenly on the coffee table. Their demonspawn of a son was going around and drawing on everybody's faces and personal possessions with a Sharpie, and Bucky was in no way inclined to stop him. In fact, watching the little blonde toddler scribbling all over Tony's cream walls and shag carpet was a source of personal joy.

His spirits lift when Steve walks into the room, eyes Modi for about two seconds, before picking up the child and telling him firmly that this is a very grown up party and he ought to be in the children's playroom. Steve will even put on a movie for him, and let him have more mashed potatoes if he is good. The child considers this before nodding and allowing Steve to carry him off.

Steve comes back a few moments later, a monocle and mustache drawn onto his face, and hurries over to Bucky's side with a smile.

"Sorry this thing is so boring," he says, hugging Bucky around the middle. "It's not much fun."

"No," Bucky concedes. "But I think I could make it fun."

"Oh?" Steve asks, grinning at him. "And what's that?"

"I vote we snag a pizza, or three, and go to our room and play Brawl."

And because this is the first time Bucky has called it 'our' room, and because Steve really doesn't feel like working, and because things look relatively under control, he agrees.

* * *

><p>The next morning, the newspaper headlines shout in bold 48-point font about several small buildings that have been seemingly sliced in half. Steve had set Modi down with Mulan, and Modi had somehow managed to float himself out of the crib and into the city, where he had taken it upon himself to practice his brick-chopping skills. Just the bricks in question were buildings.<p>

Loki had blamed Thor completely ("He's **your **son, too!" Thor had protested, head aching, but Loki was having none of it).

Tony had frowned - the bags under his eyes indicated he hadn't slept much, and Bucky took some savage pleasure from this -, went into the kitchen, and erased the contents of the whiteboard.

"It has been 0 days since the last unmanageable accident."


	138. Kalon

Written to: Feel Again - OneRepublic, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Kalon: Beauty that is more than skin-deep.<strong>_

It is a stolen moment in the midst of several very busy days that Thor finally manages to pin Loki down to their bed and love him.

"Norns above," Thor mutters into the hollow of Loki's throat, and Loki makes this strangled sound that most definitely isn't a whimper as Thor bites kisses and strokes promises into his skin, "is this what we've come to? Rolling in the sheets like animals?"

Loki laughs - wants to laugh - because the fact that it is Thor saying this is completely, absolutely absurd, but in one rapid movement Thor is seated firmly inside him and he opens his mouth around his moan as Thor begins to move, back forth back forth, relentless, furious, rough so Loki is sure he will feel the ache in his bones for weeks.

"Ymir's eyes," Thor mutters against the inside of Loki's knee from its position on his shoulder, "is this what Lady Gwen has been complaining about? Busy, busy, exams and tests and homework," Thor scoffs, rolls his hips deep inside Loki and Loki doesn't whine, that can't be him, can it? - "Because a ruler certainly must understand mathematical theorems and economies. Of. Scale." Thor punctuates the last three words with harsh, deep thrusts that Loki swears he can feel all the way in his throat.

Thor lets his lips linger on the inside of Loki's knee, and Loki wants to scream at him, so close, wants to beg him to keep moving instead of this heavy inertia, but he seems to have misplaced his voice, and his thoughts don't manage to make it into words.

"Your skin is softer here," Thor muses. "Why is that?"

He looks down at Loki, quivering and boneless in the sheets, his cock an angry red against the milky skin of his stomach, makes it abundantly clear that he will not resume their activities until Loki has produced a satisfactory answer.

Loki swallows, once, twice, narrows his eyes as he convinces his mouth to form the syllables of coherent conversation.

"Lotion," he explains after a few tries. "Midgardians like to use it so their skin will be softer. Softer skin is more attractive."

Thor rolls his eyes, rolls his hips in a thrust that has Loki nearly tearing the sheets beneath his fingertips.

"Norns, Loki," he mutters, leaning down and littering Loki's neck with bruises, "can you not see I adore you relentlessly? If your skin were all scarred and bruised and rough, that would be perfectly fine as well. You're lovely, inside and out, all the way through."

Loki wants to ask Thor what poetry book he's ripped that one out of, but the words don't make it through his throat and choke him and for the first time, he thinks he is crying as he comes.


	139. Tarantism

Written to: Six Weeks - Of Monsters and Men

* * *

><p><em><strong>Tarantism: Overcoming melancholy by dancing; the uncontrollable urge to dance.<strong>_

"We cannot keep Henry," Helblindi decrees as he stretches out on Darcy's bed, rumpling the satin covers. Were all Midgardian beds so small? Helblindi wonders to himself. According to Darcy, this is a bed fit for a Californian king, although he was under the impression that this particular Midgardian country did not have monarchs. Darcy had told him not to worry about it.

The frost chick had managed to hitch a ride, latching on to the fringes of Helblindi's scarf as he travelled to Midgard. Darcy had told Helblindi that there was really no need to go about wearing a scarf all the time, unless for whatever reason his head was detached, like a certain old lady in a certain Midgardian horror story. Helblindi had assured her that his head was quite firmly attached to his body.

The chick cheeps angrily at him from its position above him. Helblindi had tied the chick securely around the middle to the ceiling fan cord, and was now watching it spinning around in lazy circles, chirping angrily the whole way.

"Why can't we keep Henry?" Darcy wants to know, coming out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel, her face slathered with cool green cream that reminds Helblindi of avocadoes. Darcy had taken him to the market recently, where he'd been coerced into eating an astonishing amount of avocado dip and crackers at an Italian bruschetta stall. Truth be told, he hadn't needed much convincing, not after he'd taken the first creamy bite. "And don't do that, he doesn't like that," she tells him, wagging her finger at him admonishingly as she reaches up on tiptoes to free the baby chick from its confines. Henry snuggles up to Darcy's cheek, smudging its blue downy feathers with streaks of green. Traitor, Helblindi thinks affectionately as the chick gives him the smuggest of beady looks over Darcy's shoulder. Filthy bloodthirsty poultry that you are.

"It's either me or the chicken, Darcy," he tells her. "Frost chicks are horrendously territorial. That thing will kill me just as soon as you turn your back."

Darcy scoffs, rolls her eyes at him, and Helblindi has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at how ridiculous she looks. "Oh, is the big bad jötunn prince afraid of a little chicken?"

"So I take it you're choosing Henry," he says.

Darcy pauses for a moment, looking at the chick in her hands. Purses her lips, thinking about it before sighing heavily.

"I guess I'll have to choose you," she mutters, but not loudly enough to inspire confidence. "At least you're toilet trained." Henry's highly acidic, highly corrosive droppings had almost eaten all the way through a corner of Darcy's hardwood floors in her living room.

She sets Henry down on her dresser, and even from this distance Helblindi can see the chicken pouting at her, giving her its best impression of puppy dog eyes.

"But look at how cute he is!" she protests, and Helblindi snorts and watches the chick seemingly tap dance a jig across the top of Darcy's dresser. All that it needs is a cane and a top hat. "Hello, my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal," she coos, and the chick cheeps in time with her. Helblindi rolls his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs as Darcy takes the chick's wings in her hands and dances with it.

"Don't encourage it. Please," he beseeches her, but then Darcy is reaching for him, and tugging him up off the bed to dance with him, the chick stuffed securely in the small hollow of space between the top of her head and his neck. Helblindi resists the urge to squash his head down and take the chick's life, even as a sharp, tiny beak digs into his flesh and draws blood.

* * *

><p>Darcy refuses to watch as Helblindi picks up the chick, stuffs it unceremoniously into his shirt pocket, and leaves the apartment building to deposit it in an unknown area, where it would be completely disoriented and wouldn't know how to get back to Darcy's flat.<p>

Helblindi passes by Central Park, considers letting Henry loose inside the park's boundaries, snickers at the thought of how many small children he might be able to injure.

He briefly considers dropping Henry off the Brooklyn Bridge, decides against it. Henry hasn't yet demonstrated if his wings work or not, but Helblindi is not willing to encourage premature discovery of that particular ability.

His footsteps take him to an abandoned part of the Bronx. He sets Henry down on the cracked, dusty pavement, glares at the little chick, who, seemingly subdued, hangs its head and begins to hop away, glancing back over its shoulder every few steps. Once it reaches the edge of the kerb and looks back to find Helblindi watching it, it begins to dance, a one-two step, pouting at him, and against his better judgment, Helblindi sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and bends down to reach out a hand to it. Henry jumps eagerly into his hand.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Darcy wakes up to the smell of coffee and bacon, and, yawning, walks into the kitchen to find Helblindi, wrapping scarred and cut hands around a mug of coffee and glaring pointedly at the frost chick in its brand new litter box.<p> 


	140. Mizpah

Written to: Up, Ship! - Port Blue

* * *

><p><em><strong>Mizpah: <strong>The deep, emotional bond between people, especially those separated by distance or death._

Steve has stopped trying to get Bucky to tell him where he goes when he isn't with Steve. Bucky has stopped trying to make up answers, has instead told Steve that he simply doesn't know, can't remember anything past a whitewash of blinding pain and mind-numbing cold.

Steve is always glad when Bucky comes back, and prays to whatever higher being may exist that Bucky will come back to him as he watches him leave.

It has been almost a month, and Steve is haunted by nightmares of that receding, dark back, muscles tense and rigid underneath the skin, thinking, what if, what if this is the last time? He swallows down resentment and panic and hate, tries to remind himself what Bucky's dark hair looked like tied back in a sloppy ponytail, what Bucky looked like as he sat on the floor of the garage and asked Tony to pass him the motor oil so he could grease his metal elbow, the joint had been getting a bit stiff, tries to remember Bucky's scent of musk and salt and spice and hugs Bucky's pillow to his chest as he tries to tell himself that this is no way for Captain America to act. But in these moments, he isn't Captain America, is only Steve Rogers, pre-serum and 4-F and scared.

The other Avengers notice, and give him the space he silently craves, for which he is grateful. Loki has even offered on countless occasions to conjure up a doppelganger Bucky, but Steve has thanked him and refused, thinking that would be quite more than he could bear.

Steve, in a moment of frustration and misery, almost - almost - considers the possibility of Bucky's death, then pushes that thought far, far away.

He didn't feel like it was possible, doesn't feel for sure that Bucky is gone forever. He doesn't feel it.

He wraps himself around Bucky's pillow night after night, whispers a prayer into the downy softness, and hopes beyond all hope that Bucky will be there when he wakes up.

He isn't.

* * *

><p>Miles away, Bucky wakes up, soaked in a cold sweat and choking on his own breath. Men in white coats and masks restrain his flailing limbs even as he shouts behind the gag for them to stop, that it hurts; one places a mask over his face, and he tries not to breathe in whatever gas it is, but it is too late, white and cold and numbingly painful as it gathers behind his eyes and soaks into his brain.<p>

As his limbs grow heavy and his eyesight begins to fail, Bucky finds visions of Steve -

_eating ice cream, laughing as they walked through Manhattan - _

_decked out in Captain America regalia, running a hand through already tousled hair as he returned from a shift in the Bronx - _

_golden hair spilling across a deep blue pillow in the early morning -  
><em>

and he wonders, not for the first time, if it will be the last time he will remember.


	141. Sturmfrei

Written to: Turn Around - PoetLab

* * *

><p><strong><em>Sturmfrei: <em>**_Literally, "stormfree." The freedom of not being watched by a parent or a superior; being alone at a place and having the ability to do what you want._

Modi personally thinks his mama is being quite unfair. No cakes or cookies before bedtime, nothing with sugar or Modi would be staying up the whole night and that wouldn't be good, now would it? Modi harrumphs to himself, rolls his eyes as he does a mock imitation of his Mama for his and Jory's amusement. The baby snake was not fond of the imposed rules, either, and certainly thought he should be able to have eggs before bed; Loki had told him absolutely not, it would impede his digestion.

But, at the present moment, Loki is nowhere to be seen, and the entire castle is quiet with the hush of sleep.

Jory crooks his tail, latches it through the bars of Modi's crib, letting the door swing open and allowing Modi to toddle out. Modi grabs Jory and lets the baby snake drape himself over his shoulders as they venture down the dark hallways together, in search of cake and eggs. From Jory's rather limited experience of the world, it made sense that cake and eggs should be located in the same space, and he directs Modi down the corridors with little flicks of his tail towards the kitchen and its pantries.

Upon entering the kitchens, Modi spies a platter of honeycakes for the next morning sitting on a counter, and runs eagerly over to it, dropping Jory on the floor in the process. He clambers onto a sack of flower (which is, apparently, already open, and he sinks all the way into it, coming up floundering and spitting out white powder, making Jory sneeze) in his quest for the cakes.

Jory hisses in Modi's general direction before going off to cold storage to find eggs for himself. The blonde buffoon was free to go as he liked, and as far as Jory was concerned, his sibling was of no further concern to him.

* * *

><p>Loki sneaks into the kitchen an hour or so later, when he is assured the rest of the castle is already fast asleep and no one can possibly begrudge him the honeycakes he spotted the cooks making earlier that evening.<p>

He nearly runs into the kitchen in glee, before stopping dead in his tracks at the apparition that greets him: A little boy wraith, all dusty white, stuffing honeycakes into his mouth, a hungry ghost.

Loki gapes at the spirit in fear before slapping himself, the sound sharp and ricocheting through the kitchen. The boy looks up at him, smiles through a mouthful of pastry, and screeches something at him, and that is the last thing Loki hears before he falls over in a dead faint.

* * *

><p>The cooks come into the kitchen tomorrow before the break of dawn to find Loki lying face down on the stone floors, the back of his dark green nightshirt covered with impossibly small, impossibly white footprints.<p>

The head cook rouses him with a glass of cold water, halfheartedly admonishing him about eating during all hours of the night, and refusing to believe Loki's protests about ghosts and vengeful, honeycake-eating spirits as she herds him back to bed.


	142. Gerful

_**Gerful: **Wild and wayward._

The day of the wedding dawns bright and crisp and clear, the sun peeking through the windows to find Natasha pacing back and forth, twisting her cherry curls around her fingers and worrying at made-up blemishes on her cheeks and going over her vows over and over, until she is finally sure she can recite them backwards and forwards and probably in Swahili, too, if anyone asked her to. She had a knack for picking up languages.

And Clint, that wretch, had slept through the whole thing, snoring cheerily away until ten in the bloody morning, as if he wasn't about to experience the biggest day of his life. He had woken up, bright-eyed, had the audacity to peck her on the cheek before toddling off in his boxers to have breakfast. Natasha was itching to chain a collar on him and waste a few hours flogging him, but it was their wedding day, and she supposed she could cut him a little slack.

So she sits on the edge of their bed, cross and tapping her foot impatiently on the carpet, waiting for the hours to pass.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, it won't stay?" Natasha asks icily a few hours later as the hairdresser tries to tame her curls into submission.<p>

"It won't stay," the hairdresser repeats, teasing and pulling at a wayward curl that wants to straggle its way across Natasha's forehead at all costs. It has withstood the tests of the canister of hairspray, multiple brushes and combs, and even the heat of the straightening iron. It had been subdued for a few time following the last trial, before springing back into all its curly glory a scarce three minutes later.

Gwen pokes her head through the door, tapping at her wrist to tell Natasha that it is time to go, and Natasha snarls at her and scares her away before flouncing up amidst a poof of lace and satin and stalking towards the chapel doors.

* * *

><p>"And you've been my best friend, my best love, and I hope you will never be a widow, as your name suggests," Clint finishes, and she can feel that stray curl tickling her forehead as he lifts up the veil to get his first unhindered look at her.<p>

"It didn't want to stay," she explains, and wonders why she sounds so apologetic. One loose curl cannot possibly be the downfall of an otherwise perfect wedding, surely.

"It's got a mind of its own. Hard not to, when it's attached to your head," he says, shrugging, and kisses her.


	143. Pecksniffian

_**Pecksniffian: **Blatantly hypocritical; self-righteous._

"I told you, not tonight," Loki grumbles, pushing Thor half-heartedly away with his foot, and trying to ignore his pouting husband in favour of perusing a new book. "I don't feel like it, and besides, this book is really, really good!"

The book wasn't that good, something about alphabets and going on a different-themed date every weekend. Classic chick lit, and Loki wouldn't be caught dead with it, except that Thor had absolutely no interest in books (other than juvenile ones that he read, very slowly, to Modi, and Modi at this point was most likely able to read faster than his father, and other than those Nicholas Sparks novels that Thor seemed capable of reading in a single sitting, sobbing great tears all the while and mucking up the pages. Loki had discovered this particular habit right splat in the middle of A Walk to Remember, when he had been unable to read a single word for all the ink smudges). But really, Loki didn't feel up to it tonight.

Thor pouts, and when he sees that Loki is firmly refusing to budge from his position, flops down beside his husband and hugs his thigh to him in favour of the alternative. Loki rolls his eyes, wets his finger, and turns the page without finishing the last paragraph.

* * *

><p>Good God, Loki thinks to himself, as Thor thrusts into him, his massive frame blocking out the light from the open windows and the faint candle burning at the side of the bed. He closes his eyes, swallows a scream that surely would have woken his children in the other room, feeling the sparks of pleasure racing up and down his spine, pooling in the pit of his stomach, hot, molten, desperate and burning, and then Thor just stops. Completely.<p>

Loki snaps open his eyes, glaring at him, but Thor is not budging.

"What are you doing?" he hisses, and Thor just smirks at him, and Loki wants to scream, wants to claw his eyes out, how dare he laugh? "Don't stop, you fool."

"I thought you didn't want it," Thor says, with a shrug, and horror of horrors, begins to pull out, despite Loki clenching tightly around him and begging him not to leave. "You said you didn't want to."

And then he is, really, truly out, and

* * *

><p>Loki wakes up with a moan in his throat, and Thor snoring away heartily beside him. He looks down at the tent in his nightpants, looks at Thor, back to his aching cock.<p>

A few moments later, he is battering Thor over the head with a candlestick, trying to get him to wake up.

"Huh? Loki? What is it?" Thor mumbles sleepily, rolling over to look at him and getting a bashing straight in the nose for his efforts.

"I want you to fuck me," Loki hisses, rolling on top of Thor and discarding the candlestick over the side of the bed. "I had a bad dream, an absolute nightmare, and you're going to help me forget it."

Thor is surprised, but rests his hands on Loki's hips and blinks furiously, trying to wake up as Loki tugs down his trousers and seats himself in Thor's lap.


	144. Koyaanisqatsi

_**Koyaanisqatsi: **Nature out of balance; a way of life so unbalanced that you need a new way._

Modi is running through the Avengers Tower at full tilt, bobbing and weaving between and underneath table legs and other pieces of furniture. The ones that he does not manage to evade, he zaps away into some other dimension to avoid hitting, and Loki smiles in delight and applauds Modi's slowly growing control over his seidr as Tony's prized dinner set disappears piece by piece.

Modi stops in his tracks as he comes upon a little cradle, the contents of which include one burbling pink bundle and a multitude of soft, fuzzy toys. He squints at the thing, examining it.

"What dis?" he asks his mama, pointing into the crib, sticking his fingers through the bars, not tall enough to look over the top of the cradle. "So pink."

"Yes, that is a very pink baby," Loki agrees, going over to his son and capturing his tiny fingers in his own, longer ones, just to provide an extra barrier in case Modi takes it upon himself to zap the baby into another dimension. Loki would have trouble explaining that one.

"Baybee?" Modi asks, squirming and looking around Loki's knee to look at the thing. "Me baby, not it."

Loki laughs. "You are my baby, and she is Miss Pepper's baby. Remember? Emily is her name. I told you before."

Modi scrunches his face, trying to remember and clearly failing.

He hesitates uncertainly. "Mama...love baby?" he asks, frowning.

"Well, yes, I suppo -" Loki starts, before Modi buries his face in his knee and begins to sob all over the freshly laundered distressed denim of Loki's black skinny jeans. "Oh, Norns, what is it now?" he asks, as Emily, in her crib, begins to cry also. Pepper comes rushing out from the other room, discarding a stack of sheets haphazardly on the sofa, to pick her daughter up.

"Me baby, Mama should wuv me," Modi whines, pouting into Loki's neck as Loki hoists him up. "Not it."

Pepper cannot help but laugh, and Loki throws her a glare over his shoulder, almost considering having another new baby in a year or so, just to put the woman through this same thing.

"There are many babies," Loki begins, explaining over Pepper's laughter, which has started anew, "and their mamas love them, you see?" Modi buries his face into Loki's neck, smearing tears all over his skin, and Loki rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "And you will be my baby, okay? Forever. So for heaven's sake, don't cry, you said you were a big boy, remember?"

Modi had, just a few hours earlier, insisted he was all grown up and therefore should be allowed to have an entire steak like Papa. Loki had not agreed with this sentiment, but he had also been relatively sure Thor was sneaking Modi chunks of steak underneath the table.

Modi snuffles his way into an early nap, cried out and tired from all his running around, and Loki sighs, shifting the child to another shoulder before walking off to put him into bed.


	145. Tintinnabulation

Written to: Dead Sea - The Lumineers, crosspost from AO3

* * *

><p><em><strong>Tintinnabulation: <strong>The sound "that so musically wells from the bells, bells, bells, bells;" the sound that lingers after a bell has been struck._

Bucky comes to, his head pounding, to the chimes of bells overhead. He winces as once, twice, thrice, they ring, loud and strong, ripping cracks right through his brain until he feels like he can see his heartbeat in the red network of veins that overlaps his eyes.

He gets to his knees, steadying himself on the nearest cobbled wall and trying to see past all the redness and the bright white light that seems insistent on making him miserable. He can feel the aftershocks of the noise vibrating through the ivy-covered stones.

Once his eyes have adjusted enough to be useful, he finds himself staring at rows upon rows of white, orderly gravestones, the headstones broken with pearlescent marble statues of angels and crosses. He swallows dryly, unsteadily pushes himself off the wall, and staggers towards the cemetery.

The names skim past his eyes, and he finds his heart stopping at every grave that starts with an "S," though he has absolutely no idea why.

He pauses to catch his breath, rubbing his hands over his face, his distinctly non-metal hands, so fleshy and warm, and he looks down at them in wonder, flipping the right one over and tracing all the veins that run along the back of his hand with his left index finger, wondering why he finds this so incredibly fascinating. Hasn't it always been this way? He looks over his shoulder at the church in the distance, ivy walls and stained glass windows, and feels a knot in his throat, wondering why, why, why is this so familiar, and how come he can remember a place he's never been before?

He looks down at the graves in front of him. Unadorned, plain, weeds straggling across their surface, the engraved letters already starting to fade away.

Joseph Rogers.

Sarah Rogers.

He swallows roughly, holding his breath as he lets his eyes travel to the grave next to him. It is brand new, fresh, and the soil has only recently been dug up.

Steve Rogers.

And though he doesn't understand - how can he be dead? His best friend, that scrawny little 4-F soldier, he didn't even go to war, and he's dead? How? - he finds himself screaming himself hoarse, until -

* * *

><p>"Hey, wake up, come on, Bucks, wake up."<p>

A firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of the depths of sleep. Blue eyes, sleep roughened hair and a five o'clock stray shade of stubble staring down at him. Concerned, worried. Glad.

He sits up, gasping, finding himself drenched in a cold sweat.

"A nightmare?" Steve asks, sympathetic, as he rubs feeling into Bucky's tense shoulders, and Bucky finds himself staring at his hands and finding unspeakable comfort in one flesh, one metal.

In the distance, a bell rings once, twice, thrice, calling the parishioners to mass, and Bucky turns his head into the crook of Steve's neck and finds salvation in the scent of soap and safety and love that clings to Steve's skin.


	146. Capernoited

_**Capernoited: **Peevish; tipsy or slightly intoxicated. _

"You'd better soak it up while you can," Peter tells her, rolling over and prodding her in the side of the stomach with a sunscreen slick index finger. Gwen grunts at him, bats him lazily over the head with her magazine, and goes back to skimming through the glossy pages of People as she lounges in the warm rays of sun by the rooftop poolside on the Avengers Tower. "The UK isn't going to have this, and certainly Oxford won't be having me," Peter says, gesturing down to his pale, slightly freckled body in the lounge chair next to hers.

Gwen tells him he is starting to crack and peel, that soon a lobster will be sending her off to study abroad instead of the Almighty Spiderman.

"It's the Amazing Spiderman," Peter grumbles in her general direction before slopping more sunscreen over himself. Gwen ignores this. The sunscreen goes in all directions, spilling in little globs on the ground, and it can't be those Mai Tais that Peter snuck earlier, swallowing them down quickly and tossing the glass into a nearby cupboard so Tony wouldn't find out as he walked in the kitchen door, it can't be those that are making the sun dance across Gwen's skin, can it?

Peter looks at Gwen from around the pages of People, admires the sunkissed freckles that dot the bridge of her nose and dust her cheeks with brown. While she swats at him ineffectively, he takes the time to look down the length of her string bikini-clad body, admiring every curve and dimple and mole. Gwen is engrossed in some celebrity makeover story, and he bites his lip and inches his hand across the plastic slats of her lounge chair, reaching out a finger maybe just to skim against her smooth thigh -

"Subtle of you, Parker," Gwen mutters, rolling away from him, granting him a gratuitous view of her backside as she rolls over onto her stomach.

"I thought you weren't watching," Peter says, and he wasn't pouting. Really. The Amazing Spiderman didn't pout.

Gwen sighs, arches a perfectly sculptured brow at him.

"Are you sulking?"

"I'm not." This wasn't very convincing.

"You are."

"I'm not."

She sighs again, rolls back over to him, and drags his hand over to place it firmly on her thigh.

"Better soak it up while you can," she mimics, tossing his words good-naturedly back at him, and he laughs and runs his palms over smooth skin and hopes that the UK is good to her.

And that the Mai Tais won't make a hasty appearance any time soon.


	147. Oneirataxia

_**Oneirataxia: **The inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality._

Steve doesn't think this is a good idea. This is far from a good idea, and he starts to tell Bucky so, but the words get stuck in his throat at the wrong time and he ends up swallowing his syllables as Bucky pushes him back down onto the bed, mouths and teeth and tongues tangled, and Steve wonders if the bitter taste in the corners of Bucky's mouth are just traces of alcohol, or if he can taste desperation in there, too. He wouldn't be surprised.

"Did you know him?" Bucky asks, his voice gritty and grainy as he presses in and oh, Steve remembers this, hot and velvet slick and wanting, and his heart wrenches as Bucky buries his face in the crook of his neck and tells him what a good man Steve Rogers was.

"You look like him," Bucky says quietly, and tears drop salty onto Steve's skin, and he brushes them away and tries to ignore the ones coating the insides of his eyes. "Maybe if he had lived long enough. The war took it out of him. So tiny, delicate, fragile, 4-F. Always 4-F."

Bucky grinds his teeth together, and Steve cries out as he strikes that place deep inside of him, and he isn't sure if the pleasure racing up and down his spine is enough to wipe away the sadness in his head.

"I left him, you know, it was me," Bucky mutters, driving into Steve with a ferocity that has the headboard slamming violently against the wall. He doesn't apologise. "Went to war, and left him."

Bucky bites through the skin of Steve's neck, sobbing the whole while, as he comes, and Steve stares up at the ceiling and tries to convince himself that the splash of warmth between them is okay.

* * *

><p>"And I thought he might still be alive," Bucky says drowsily, his hand splayed lazily across Steve's chest. "Just, my God, the way you look, walk, talk, everything, exactly like darling Steve. But you're, you're him and not him, at the same time." Bucky leans on his elbow, gazing at him intently in the darkness, and Steve wants to squirm under his gaze. "It's weird. I feel like I've known you."<p>

Bucky settles down into the pillows, and Steve releases a breath he doesn't realise he's been holding, and wonders when it won't hurt quite so much.


	148. Floccinaucinihilipilification

_**Floccinaucinihilipilification**: The act of deciding that something is useless._

Modi has recently been begging Loki at every available turn for a "gill chij sammich." Loki has absolutely no idea what that is, and Modi eventually has had enough of his mama's ignorance and uncultured ways, and goes running to Gwen, who he's taken a huge liking to.

"Gwen!" he sobs into her denim-clad knee. "I wan a gill chij sammich, an Mama don know!"

Gwen sighs, pats his violet (Modi had also recently developed an obsession with every shade of purple available) hair, and tells him that she cannot make him one, the stove and oven are broken. This had been the result of several of Loki's failed attempts at baking a Betty Crocker cake mix.

"Toast?" Modi asks, looking up at Gwen with lavender eyes, and in that moment, Gwen has an idea.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, looking at the gooey innards of what used to be a toaster, Gwen has determined and concluded that one cannot use a toaster to make grilled cheese.<p>

She hopes Tony can overlook the ruining of his state-of-the-art toaster.


	149. Apanthropinization

Written to: Houdini - Foster the People

* * *

><p><em><strong>Apanthropinization: <strong>The resignation of human concerns; withdrawal from the world and its problems._

Tony loves his daughter. Absolutely fricking adores her, from every tiny burp to every cry to every dirty diaper that requires changing in the dead middle of the night. And she certainly is much calmer than that little hellion Thor dotes on constantly.

However, child care is not very useful towards the Avengers Initiative, which Tony quickly finds out the instant he walks into the tower and is bombarded with a load of information that he is, frankly, far too tired to process right now.

JARVIS, faithful electronic servant that he is, offers to make some very strong coffee for the tired man, but Tony gapes at the graphs and diagrams and blueprints that Jarvis has laid out before him, and rubs his eyes frantically trying to make some sense of the numbers. The digits appear to leap off the page, and Tony stares at them in wonder, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, slowly swaying back and forth in his chair as he watches the number "3" dancing with Lady "Pi" in a crazy waltz that has him stifling a giggle into his fist.

Loki pops his head in, frowns at the giggling scientist, and asks JARVIS if perhaps the trials of parenthood have broken him. JARVIS agrees in an off-handed manner that that is most probably the case, but he still cannot in good consciousness allow Loki to access the Iron Man suit blueprints. Loki tells him that he is a robot and thus is incapable of having a consciousness, and sends JARVIS into a moral dilemma for a good three hours.

By this point, Tony has shaken himself awake and is attempting to focus on plans for a better, more efficient electricity grid for Manhattan. The power hadn't been quite the same since Max Dillon's little...affair with the grid a few months ago, and constantly flickered in and out, much to the distress of several city officials. Max had been unapologetic about the whole thing, and had told Tony in good confidence that it was his personal opinion that the power grid was being a bit of a cocktease.

He cannot get himself to focus on pylons ("You need to construct additional pylons!" a voice droned inside his head, and he giggled at the thought of Protosses...Protosi? swimming through the Manhattan power grid, carrying little crystals), and instead his mind keeps wandering back to his daughter and what she is doing now. Staring indignantly at the ceiling and attempting to squirm out of the little mittens Pepper insisted she wear at all times.

Tony has to stop himself once he finds himself doodling his daughter in the margins of the blueprints, and sighs, looking over at JARVIS. The AI is still in a state of shock, and is still currently contemplating its life decisions and whether it really did prefer chocolate over vanilla soft serve, and could it even eat soft serve? Tony rolls his eyes at JARVIS, who doesn't notice, and pushes his stool back to go find his daughter.

He's had quite enough of power grids and mid-life-crisis AIs for one day.


	150. Concinniti

**_Concinnity: _**_Harmony and elegance of design. _

Modi, just the other day, had pitched a fit about not being able to pick out his own outfits. Couldn't his mama and papa see that he was already a big boy, almost two years old already? Surely they could toss those horrible onesies, burn them in the deepest depths of hell, especially the ones with the little spotted ducks. Modi was wary of ducks on principle - how could they both fly and swim? - and these ones were marked with the ravages of some unknown disease. It was really quite frightening.

Loki sighs, sets Modi down outside his crib, and tells him very sternly that under no circumstance are any of his chosen clothes to have rhinestones.

"If you wish for sparkly clothes, dear," Loki says, "we will easily go to Midgard and procure the loveliest of diamonds, you understand? No child of mine will be for want of jewels."

Modi had no desire for sparkles at the present moment, but decided to file that information away for later use.

Loki leaves the room, waiting outside the door for Modi.

Modi concentrates, staring at himself in the mirror as the blank white T-shirt he is wearing dyes itself a deep shade of green, as the plain white shorts get painted with black. He frowns at himself, not liking the purpleness of his hair, or his eyes. At least, not with this green. It looks horrendous. So he squeezes his lips together and changes his hair to black, his eyes to their original shade of bright green.

Loki peeks in to ask how much time Modi will require, and can only smile at the miniature of himself.


	151. Agowilt

**_Agowilt: _**_Unnecessary fear. _

Apparently Jory is going through a bit of a wicked streak, and had convinced Modi that one day his parents would shut him up in a room at the top of the castle because of his seidr, like in Frozen. Of course, Jory didn't point out the fact that, out of the three Loki-spawn currently residing in Asgard, Modi was by far the most normal. He also didn't point out the fact that Modi's seidr was nothing too concerning; after all, Loki too possessed magical powers, unlike the parents in Frozen.

Jory, when prodded to answer a few days later, had hissed and told Loki in little sibilant syllables that it wasn't his fault Modi took after that blonde buffoon of a father in terms of intelligence. Loki had eyed Jory, trying to stifle his laughter and failing miserably, before telling the little snake that it really was not very nice to tease his brother.

But at the present moment, Modi has hidden himself in the pile of toys in the wardrobe, cowering in a corner of the armoire in the nursery as Loki looks behind curtains and underneath rugs and even inside the giant teddy bear Thor had procured at a Midgardian amusement park in search of his son.

"Modi?" Loki calls, and Modi stuffs his fist into his mouth to keep from crying. "Where are you? It's time for breakfast. They've even got strawberries and cream today. You like those."

At this, Modi almost tumbles out of the closet - he really did enjoy strawberries and cream, almost as much as potatoes, but the cooks positively refused to serve potatoes and cream - but manages to regain his balance just in time. His mama wasn't going to lure him out of his hiding place with delicious treats, only to shut him up in a room in a tower far far away. No, sir.

A pair of beady eyes and a cool, leathery object slithers past his leg, and Modi screams and bolts out of the closet, flailing and kicking, Jory wrapped loosely around his ankle.

"My goodness, what's gotten into you two?" Loki asks after a moment, scooping up his sons and checking for injuries. There are none, but Modi is still screaming bloody murder and Loki has to drag him out of the nursery, Modi's nails leaving gouges in the floor all the way down the hall.

* * *

><p>Modi snuffles into his breakfast, so much so that Frigga has to tell him that strawberries and cream really do not taste very good with salty tears, and Odin even makes silly faces at his grandson to try to get him to laugh. He produces nothing so much as a giggle.<p>

After breakfast is over, Modi sobs his way into an early, unscheduled midmorning nap, and Loki vaguely wonders as he puts his son down to sleep if Modi had, overnight, developed a terrifying fear of red fruits. Thor, back in the 9th century, had had a fundamental distrust of cherries, a fear that had recently come back stronger upon being presented with a Midgardian jar of cherries, bright and fluorescent red and sweet. Loki loved them. Thor had flung the jar far away, setting off three car alarms in the process, and Loki had mourned the loss of his new sweet.

He looks at his sleeping son, chewing at his lip thoughtfully, and decides to place a tomato in the corner of the crib. Just as a test.


	152. Yuanfen

Written to: The Bird and the Worm - Owl City

* * *

><p><em><strong>Yuanfen (缘分）： <strong>A relationship by fate or destiny; the binding force between two people. _

"This is a complete crock of shit," Loki protests even as he allows Thor to drag him into the fortune teller's booth. "You don't even believe in this sort of stuff. I remember when we were children, Mother predicted you'd grow into a hard-headed stubborn man, and you told her that you'd never be like Father. And look where that's gotten you."

Thor is blissfully oblivious to Loki's ranting, and only sweetly tells him that, unlike the All-Father, Thor is still possessed of both eyes and has not yet adopted a jötunn babe for Modi's brother. Loki rolls his eyes, and mutters under his breath that that can certainly be arranged.

The fortune teller comes bustling in, redolent with the scent of cloves and a bittersweet scent that Loki is well aware is of an illegal nature. Not that he would know, surely not, it was an illegal substance, and Loki certainly wouldn't be knowing anything about that.

"Lady Darcy tells me that that is pot," Thor says, smiling sweetly at Loki, and Loki just gapes at him while the fortune teller stares at them with narrowed eyes, wondering if they seemed like the type to report her to the nearest authorities. "It makes me very hungry," Thor continues, and the fortune teller sits down and begins to deal out a deck of cards, obviously considering them unthreatening. "I remember she gave me some once, and I almost demolished a shoppe where they sell the most delightful sandwiches made of cow," Thor says, smiling fondly at the memory, and Loki decides not to tell him about the first time he himself partook of marijuana. Thor didn't quite need to know who exactly destroyed three cupcake shoppes in Manhattan. The Avengers were still looking for the culprit.

They sit down across the fortune-teller, who sniffs a few times (Loki wonders if it were possible she were under the influence of some other illegal substance that he most certainly didn't know about), and asks them to show her their palms. He resists the urge to giggle as she traces the lines on his right palm with a long, red talon of a nail, bites his lip to keep from laughing as she leans back, sniffs again, once twice thrice, before telling him that his future holds certain doom.

Thor is understandably concerned, a feeling which only grows when the fortune teller tells him that he, too, is about to experience a catastrophic change.

"Don't worry about it," Loki tells him after they leave the booth. He has almost forgotten the joy of breathing untainted air. "They all say that."

And perhaps it is all the smoke he's been inhaling, or because the sun is shining directly into his eyes, but Loki takes a deep breath, turns his head to the side, and in the most refined way one can do this, retches into the bushes next to them. And this would be cause for concern, but it was only made worse by the fact that Loki appears to be spewing fire from his mouth, setting the grass aflame. As he wipes his mouth with his sleeve, Thor reaches out to steady him and pinch out a budding flame on his sleeve.

"What was that?" Thor asks in alarm, stamping out the budding blaze. "That's certainly not normal. Perhaps it is a harbinger of this impending doom."

Loki scoffs, rolls his eyes, and tells Thor that it was probably the Mexican food they had last night.

Thor is absolutely not convinced, and only takes consolation in the fact that Loki seems fine (other than the occasional blowing sparks fits he has on their walk back to the Tower), and that at least they will be together for this incoming catastrophe.


	153. Nedovtipa

**_Nedovtipa: _**_Someone who cannot take a hint. I'm sorry, I'm drunk at the moment so this chapter probably isn't very good, is it?_

"Thor, do you mind?" Loki asks him, as he struts irritably about the bedchambers, frowning at his blonde-haired husband. "I'm in the middle of doing something." To any naked eye, and to any practiced eye, he was doing absolutely nothing of great importance and was instead determined to pace a track in the middle of their bedroom carpet.

"We are going to have a new babe," Thor says, eyeing Loki fervently. "That is why you have been spewing fire at random turns."

Loki scoffs, rolls his eyes. The pregnancy test and all of Frigga's spells had shown that this was indeed the case, but Loki was not about to let Thor have the satisfaction of that knowledge.

"Perhaps I have been spewing fire because I have recently been eating quite spicy foods." This was actually quite true, as Loki had almost depleted the world's entire supply of habanero peppers.

"I am busy."

"I currently wish to be alone."

"I have no use for you here, go entertain Modi or something."

Throughout all of this, Thor stalwartly refuses to budge and tells Loki that he, for one, would welcome a dragon spawn into the family.

Loki finally loses his temper, breathes a veritable inferno in Thor's general direction, and tells him firmly to get out.

Thor complies.


	154. Meraki

_**Meraki: **The soul, creativity, or love put into something; the essence of yourself that is put into your work._

Modi hums to himself - horrendously off-tune, Loki thinks, and he certainly had his father to thank for that - as he scribbles busily over a pad of paper, the crayons leaving fat smears and oily slivers all over the table. Loki sweeps them unceremoniously onto the floor and revels in the scent of wax and childhood.

"And who are you drawing?" Loki asks, hiccupping a little spark that flies into Modi's hair and sets a bit ablaze. Loki pinches it out quickly, and ruffles the blond curls to hide the little singed patch. Modi remains blissfully unaware of his unborn sibling's attempt on his life, which, for all parties concerned, is much for the better. "That's you, I believe. And who is that little thing next to you?"

"Is baby," Modi says, turning to Loki and rolling his eyes in such a manner that Loki wants to pinch his cheeks and tell him how cute he is, while simultaneously wondering if he had been that annoying at that age. Modi points to Loki's stomach. "That baby." Loki isn't even showing yet.

"I see. Of course it is," Loki says, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead. Modi, at the tender age of ~18 months, had intuited far more than his father of ~9000 years could possibly fathom. Loki, as a sort of joke, had managed to convince Thor that he came from a mixed breed of jötunn and dragon. Thor had accepted this idea as easily as could have been expected, and still was under the impression that Loki, once every blue moon or so, transformed into a mythical creature and flew away to ravage virgin princesses (or princes, as the case was).

"We put this in the baby room," Modi proclaims, holding up his drawing, childish scrawls of wax proclaiming his love for his unborn, unknown sibling. Loki smiles and tells Modi that that will indeed be the first thing the baby sees when he wakes up in the morning, and Modi smiles, sunshine and happiness.


	155. Wabi-sabi

Written to: Besaid Island (Remastered) - Final Fantasy X OST, some minor spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier

* * *

><p><em><strong>Wabi-sabi: <strong>The discovery of beauty in imperfection; the acceptance of the cycle of life and death. _

Bucky traces over his metal arm nervously, wondering where the veins and sinew and bone of his old flesh arm have gone, if they can still feel his phantom touch, if they are still in a position to remember that they were once his.

His head feels slick and fuzzy, and that woman with the red hair and the bright - too bright - smile, comes walking in, holding a comb. He looks forward as she instructs, holds a dark gaze in the mirror, mute, lethal, and he starts, his hair catching in the teeth of the comb. That cannot be him. Absolutely not. The person in the mirror is frighteningly angry, frighteningly sad, and that most certainly is not him. Right? But it cannot be anyone but him; there can't possibly be too many people in the world with metal arms. As he watches, curling his left hand into a fist, he finds the reflection's right hand curling into a fist against its thigh, cold metal fingers burning through his jeans.

He looks over the reflection's shoulder at the red-haired woman, gnawing at her lip - Natasha, he realises with a start, wondering why he has not remembered this, and then wondering with a lump of worry in the pit of his stomach why he doesn't feel about her the way he used to. He starts trying to work up the nerve to tell her, because it is inevitable that they will part ways before too long, when he catches a glimpse of the diamond-studded band around her finger.

"I...married you?" he asks, and even his voice is strange, deep and rough and jagged around the edges. "When did this happen?"

She laughs, nervous, quick, not like Natasha at all, and he looks at the mirror again to find her trying to hold back tears. "You didn't marry me," she says, and Bucky is not sure to be relieved or upset. "Another man did. You've met him before. Remember? Clint Barton. Hawkeye. Purple Cupid?"

He tells her that he remembers, and she smiles, watery, dragging the comb through his matted, snarled hair, but both he and she know that he is telling a lie.

"Why are you combing my hair?" he asks after a few moments, when the tears don't brush her lower eyelashes, when the gnawing worry in his stomach has started to throb away. "Where have I been?"

"You've been sick," she says for a moment, a hiccup in her voice, and Bucky wants to turn to her, wrap her in an embrace, but she is not his anymore and he cannot bear to look in the mirror at her sadness, at that silent, mute stranger staring back at him. "I'm cleaning you up to see someone. What's the last thing that you remember?"

He wants to tell her, it is on the tip of his tongue, a flash of blue eyes, pearly white smiles, blonde hair messy on a pillow, but he is afraid that if he says them, they will hang in the air like bubbles, beautiful and clear for a single moment, before popping away and leaving him with nothing except the soft mist of memories past stinging his eyes. He wants to tell her that he remembers French toast and dark roast in the mornings, laughter, wants to tell her that the last thing he remembers is not that white blinding pain that he still feels every time he breathes too deeply.

He braves a glance at her over his shoulder, finds that she is crying silently into her hands, and wishes that he had something, anything else, to say.

* * *

><p>The man that visits him later has blue eyes the colour of the sea in the evening, and deep black circles under his eyes, and he stands with his arms hugged close to his chest, his fingers twitching, wanting to touch and not wanting to at the same time.<p>

The words come easier this time. "I've missed you," Bucky says, and feels relief and some intense, curious joy as the man's eyes light up and he smiles, white and bright. He doesn't know why he's said it, but it feels right, and the man's reaction confirms this.

"Oh my God, Bucky, I've missed you," the man says, and then all of a sudden he is hugging him, arms tight around his waist, hands - both flesh - pressing against his shoulder blades, and Bucky turns his head slightly to the left and breathes in shampoo and soap in the other man's hair as he hugs him back. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too, -" and this is where the words stop, because Bucky finds the words slipping past his mind, and he cannot find this man's name.

The man pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes, and Bucky swallows past the growing lump of dread in his throat.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, suddenly ashamed. "I...I can't remember your name."

The man sighs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, and staying very still for a moment. Bucky can see the slight twitching of his shoulders, wants to reach out and hug him again, but he keeps his hands to himself. Waiting.

"It's okay," the man says, pulling his hands away from his eyes. He laughs, choked, and Bucky wants to tell him that he doesn't mean to hurt him, that he doesn't mean any of this, but the man's image has gone blurry and he can just barely make out silver tear tracks beginning a slow descent down the man's cheeks. "Oh, don't you cry, too, that's really not fair, come on, now," and hands on his cheeks, calm, broad, slight calluses at the fingertips.

"We'll just have to start over," the man says, and Bucky swallows his tears, focuses on his face again. "It's okay, we've got all the time in the world. I promise. Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Or The Winter Soldier and Captain America. I'll even let your title come first on the comics for a year." When Bucky doesn't smile, the man rolls his eyes, laughs again past his tears. "Okay, a decade. You've always been picky."

Bucky closes his eyes, reaches up to his face to thread his fingers through the man's. Thinks. Waits for the word to come back from where it's rocketed past his synapses, out into orbit.

"...Steve?" he asks, opening his eyes to find shock and joy written all over the man's - Steve's - face.

"Yes, that's right," Steve says, smiling and laughing and crying. "I'm Steve, and I'm your boyfriend."


	156. Dustsceawung

_**Dustsceawung**: "Contemplation of the dust;" reflection on former civilisations and peoples, and on the knowledge that all things will turn to dust._

"This is very strange art," Helblindi tells her in one of the galleries at New York's MoMA. "A child could do this." At this remark, art critics and hipsters alike turn to glare viciously in their direction, and Darcy quickly stuffs Henry back into her purse before the security guard can come over and tell her that no animals are allowed in the museum. She wasn't sure she would be able to convince him that Henry was a seeing-eye chicken, and also wasn't sure if Henry would take it upon himself to devour the guard before her very eyes.

She could see the headlines now.

Murderous Poultry Slays Innocent Art Guardian, Leaves No Survivors

She shakes her head at Henry, who is peeping out the zipper of her purse again, and he peeps obediently and goes to forage in the depths of her purse for corn chips. Or loose change. Or really, whatever isn't secured and is just rattling around the bottom of the bag.

They pass through into a different, Degas-themed gallery, and Helblindi looks around at the pale limbs, naked and on display for the whole world to see. He turns to give Darcy a smug smile.

"That's me, you know," he says, pointing towards a painting of a nude ballerina, washing her legs.

Darcy, against her better judgment, forces herself to look more closely at the painting, at the features that are so distinctly Helblindi emerge where before none were.

"My God, you're incorrigible," she mutters, rolling her eyes, and Helblindi looks inordinately pleased. "You and your brother both."

"No, Byleistr doesn't make a pretty girl, I can assure you," Helblindi says, smiling at the female portrayal of himself.

"No, I mean Loki." Darcy is seriously considering setting Henry on a corner of the Degas, wonders if the paint and acrylic would mess with his digestive system. Decides that it will not.

"Oh. Yes. I suppose," Helblindi says off-handedly. "He was an interesting man, Degas, I'll give him that. Actually, the 19th century was just an interesting time, over all. It's so odd to see how 'far' art has come," he says, making air quotes. "From beautiful subjects," he winces as Darcy elbows him in the ribs, "to lines and scribbles that make no sense at all."

Darcy scoffs. "So, Miss Ballerina," she says with a smirk, "are you in any other paintings that I should know about?"

"I've actually been featured quite a lot in the Lascaux cave paintings," Helblindi says nonchalantly, filing his nails against his jeans. "I've sporting a rather prominent piece of anatomy in many of them. That was an interesting time as well for your realm. Thankfully, you've modernised, I definitely am not a fan of the sticking things with spears until they die. It was a...much simpler time. And much more boring."

Darcy just rolls her eyes, takes him by the hand, and drags him to the Monet gallery, where Helblindi points out a woman with a parasol and tells her that that is also him. Darcy just has to wonder.


	157. Nepenthe

_**Nepenthe: **Something that can make you forget grief and suffering._

Peter doesn't want to admit it, but he's got tears in his eyes as he watches Gwen waving at him from the plane window, all smiles and joy and happiness. She is about to set off to Oxford, to the United Kingdom, to a place that Peter's never been and he's not sure if he's ever going to go.

Not for the first time, he wonders if it would kill him to just casually latch onto the plane and go along for the ride. He's been through worse, after all. But he's not too sure about the air pressure at 30,000 feet or thereabouts, and also isn't sure how Gwen might react when she disembarks and finds him, wind-swept and ragged, at the immigration counter, waiting for her. He can't imagine she'll take that very well.

He watches and tries very hard not to cry as her plane begins to back out of the terminal, begins to taxi and coast down the runway, and he's never been a religious person but he prays to whatever higher beings are out there to let her have a safe flight and to come back from the UK sans the London Look. When it comes to Gwen's appearance, Peter hasn't been too picky (she went through the goth phase, too, although that was a time they silently, mutually agreed not to speak of), but he thinks he would prefer it if she had all her teeth upon return.

Peter watches her plane take off, waits until it is just a sparkling dot in the far horizon, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and shuffling back into the airport, head hanging, dejected and lonely.

His fingers brush against a little papery object in his right pocket of his jeans, and he wraps his hand around it before pulling it out, wondering what it can possibly be.

A piece of paper, folded into what looks to be sixteenths, covered front and back with Gwen's long, elegant scrawl.

He smiles, carefully unfolds it, and begins to read.


	158. Apodyopsis

_**Apodyopsis: **The act of mentally undressing someone._

"It's unfortunate, Bucky being like that," Clint says, as he lounges on their bed and watches Natasha tug on her black boots, getting ready for her shift as primary protector of the city. "Hopefully, Bruce and Tony can figure out something, so he's not, you know, always forgetting every time he goes wherever he goes when he's not here."

Natasha shrugs hopelessly. "It might be better if we could get him not to go at all, but you know what he's like. Headstrong. He's always been that way, and hell nor high water isn't going to stop him from what he sets out to do."

Clint snorts, rolling back into the pillows. "Headstrong. That's a nice way to put it. Stubborn is more like it," he comments, as he watches Natasha twirling in front of the mirror, tightening belts as needed, her hands settling into the curves of her waist.

His mind fast forwards a few hours, when she will come back, skin chilled from the cold night air, and he can peel those tight, restraining black clothes off, once after the other, one boot first, laces rough against his hands as it falls from his fingers over the other side of the bed. A zipper peeling to reveal smooth, creamy skin, inch by tantalising inch, until he loses patience and yanks it down, mouth darting down to press a slick, sweet kiss onto pebbled flesh; his hands flush against silk thighs, rubbing, stroking, pressing apart -

"You aren't even paying attention," Natasha says, nudging him in the chest with a toe, and he once again has to admire her flexibility. No amount of yoga classes could do the same for him. "You're thinking about sex again. You've got that look in your eye."

"What look?" Clint asks, trying to look as innocent as possible, and failing miserably.

Natasha rolls her eyes, smacks him lightly over the head, before climbing out their bedroom window and off into the night.


	159. Trumpery

_**Trumpery: **Useless knick-knacks, nonsense._

"You seem to think I'm an invalid, not pregnant," Loki says, but his tone is amused as Thor piles up the day's latest offerings at his feet. "I certainly have no need for bejeweled mobiles, and I am relatively sure those are rhinestones."

Thor smiles patiently up at Loki, and finishes depositing the last of the trinkets before hopping up and squeezing himself into the little space Loki has so generously allotted him in the throne. They survey the day's bounty together.

"The subjects are afraid of you," Thor gently chides Loki. "You have been spewing fire everywhere. They have not been amused, and want to placate your fiery instincts."

Loki rolls his eyes. "Blame the baby. I take no responsibility for its actions. And we do not need these rocks, whatever they are," Loki adds, nudging a grey necklace with a sandaled toe. "However, I do like those gold earrings underneath that crib, you see?" He points them out to Thor, and when Thor doesn't move, he digs an elbow into his ribs. "I would like for you to fetch them," he says, very clearly, and Thor jumps off the throne to do Loki's bidding.


	160. Cockaigne

_**Cockaigne: **An imaginary land of luxury and idleness._

Tony loves Emily, really, truly he does. But my God, he has nearly forgotten what lying in past five-thirty feels like. Emily has an internal circadian rhythm like a Japanese bullet train, and every morning, precisely at 5:28 and 39 seconds, she wakes up with a shrill scream that has Pepper burying her head under her pillow and kicking Tony in the ribs to go and attend to their daughter's needs.

"Christ, kid," he murmurs as he picks her up and presses a kiss to her head, where dark curls have just started to make their wispy appearance. "What do you say about letting Daddy and Mommy have a little lie in every once in a while, hm?" She stares up at him with indignant dark eyes, as if this were completely out of the question, and who did he think he was to even dare to ask?

He feeds Emily her morning bottle, watches the sun rising over the skyscrapers of Manhattan as he burps her, and settles her back into her crib just as she is starting to yawn again, her little mouth open in a perfect pink oval. He watches her sleeping for a few moments before he tumbles back into bed next to Pepper, who is already fast asleep again.

He drifts into dreams of waking up at nine-thirty, of rolling around in a giant mattress made of fluff and marshmallow, and is jolted rudely awake as Pepper punches him in the shoulder at precisely 6:07 and tells him that he is gnawing at the pillow again.


	161. Temerate

_**Temerate: **To break a bond or binding promise._

Steve knows it's not Bucky's fault; Lord knows he knows. How he can't help occasionally forgetting Steve's name, his birthday, his favourite things.

How sometimes he stares at his own reflection for hours in the mirror, before turning to Steve and, eyeing him very carefully, asks him when he got so buff.

_"Swear to God, Steve," Bucky whispered as they lay curled up, legs tangled underneath the covers, "I swear I won't forget this. They can't do anything to make me forget you." _

Steve still doesn't know who "they" is, and Bucky isn't, won't, or can't say.

And yet - Steve wants to take Bucky roughly by the shoulders and shake him, shake him until he can hear his brain rattling around inside his skull - because he has forgotten, and is all but a stranger.

And then Steve catches Bucky glancing at him from the corner of his eye, his gaze dark and heavy and loving, and Steve swallows back his anger and anguish and fear, and tries to look forward to rebuilding their relationship.

Second first kisses, second first dates, second first whispered promises underneath the sheets...

"I'll try harder this time," Bucky promises him, his words muffled and hot against the hollow of Steve's throat. "I promise."

And Steve presses kisses into his dark, long hair, and doesn't say anything.


	162. Aeolist

_**Aeolist:** __A pompous person who only pretends to have inspiration or spiritual insight. _Ignore the pompous part of this definition, this is just playfulness.

"Where are you calling me from?" Gwen wants to know. "That's not your house."

Peter rolls over and holds the phone above him so she can still see him, but his face is framed against the scratchy bedspread under him, tartan and woolly and utterly miserable fabric. He was of the opinion that it had been used as a torture device in some past life. "And that's not your bed," she continues, "unless you're on some sort of Scotland obsession phase. I'm just going to tell you right now that tartan looks hideous on Spandex and it definitely should not be your next choice for a Spiderman makeover."

"It makes me feel closer to you," Peter says, and Gwen scoffs, rolls her eyes, but he can see a little telltale blush wending its way through her freckles, even through the poor quality of the FaceTime call.

"What's that noise?" Gwen wants to know, and Peter curses the thinness of the walls, at the way she can clearly hear the church bells ringing right outside. "You've even got the chapel stuff all synchronized, haven't you?" she asks, grinning as the same sounds spill through her speakers. "You dork."

Peter shrugs, fighting off a grin and admiring the way her mouth quirks up at the corners.

"Maybe I'm just feeling particularly close to God today," he tells her, even though he's never been particularly religious. "Kind of hard not to, when I'm facing an angel such as yourself."

She blushes a bright tomato colour, and Peter can't help it, laughing out loud and dropping the phone on his chest. He picks it up again to find out he's inadvertently hung up.

He shrugs to himself, massaging the sore spot on his sternum as he hops out the window and stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes trained on Big Ben in the distance as he goes to find Gwen.


	163. Taarradhin

_**Taarradhin: **A compromise where everybody wins._

Loki absolutely hates it when the tub of Neapolitan ice cream that he has so carefully stashed away in the back of the freezer is tampered with. And Modi, that little trickster (Loki wants to believe that he was absolutely nothing like this as a child, but he would be lying) has been fond of leaving just a little layer of chocolate and strawberry at the tip of the tub so that it isn't apparent from the outside that there is almost none left. He doesn't do this with the vanilla flavour, just further proving Loki's theory that there was such a thing as hell.

"Could you eat the vanilla as well?" Loki has asked his son on more than one occasion, pulling out the nearly empty tub and glaring pointedly at Modi. Modi had told him that he did not like the 'white flavour,' and had skipped off, leaving Loki to his own devices and a tray of almost nothing except vanilla ice cream. Loki had ended up scooping out the teaspoonful of strawberry and chocolate that his son had so graciously left him, and had stuck the tray back in the freezer.

"Dearest," Thor hedges one night, after Odin has confronted him about the astonishing surplus of vanilla ice cream that seems to dominate the freezer space, "would it not be better to just buy chocolate and strawberry ice cream? This way, there will be no leftovers."

Loki looks at him incredulously, before rolling his eyes and going back to snapping his fingers and producing flames. Thor, that heathen, wouldn't understand.

Loki pretends that it was his idea all along when the boxes of strawberry and chocolate ice cream start appearing in the fridge, and nobody dares challenge him.


	164. Frowzy

_**Frowzy: **Habitually unkempt._

Helblindi wakes up to an angry chirping directly into his ear, and rolls over, nearly squashing Henry in the process and only infuriating the little ice blue chick more. Darcy sleeps like a log, and does not even twitch as Helblindi sits up groggily, Henry clutched in one hand, and cracks an eye open to stare at the little demon.

"It looks like somebody's feathers are ruffled," Helblindi mutters. The pre-dawn light is just bright enough to make out Henry's angry little eyes, and the way his three crown feathers tuft out in all crazy directions. Henry at this point would most likely have wanted to say something rather cutting about how it was all Helblindi's fault, after all he had been the one to roll over onto Henry in the first place, was he even aware of how much he weighed, he ought to lose a good three stone or so - but as such, his species had not been granted the gift of speech, and so he had to settle for wriggling furiously in Helblindi's grasp and trying to peck at any available flesh.

"Alright, alright, shut up would you?" Helblindi asks, reaching over for the little black comb on the nightstand table. Henry peeps in approval as he holds the comb up for his inspection, and positively purrs - but nobody would use that word to describe Henry or his noises - as Helblindi runs the teeth of the comb through his little feathers and smooths them back down. "You know they're only going to get messy again in approximately three minutes."

Henry even goes so far as to cuddle up to Helblindi's middle finger before circling his palm once, twice, thrice and settling down into sleep again.

True to form, even as Helblindi watches, three minutes on the dot later Henry's crown feathers spring up, bouncing lazily above his head.

As Helblindi lies back down and wraps an arm around the still-sleeping Darcy, he prays for the day when Henry will be able to comb his own feathers.


	165. Metanoia

_**Metanoia: **The journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life._

"Mama, I don't like dese fwowers," Modi complains, even as soft yellow streams of magic are spilling from Loki's palms to coat the wall with golden tulips, blowing softly in an imaginary breeze. "Too giwly," he protests. Loki only smiles and ruffles his son's hair.

"Look, I'll put a horse here," Loki offers, pointing to the as-of-yet blank blue wall beside Modi's crib, which he's moved a little bit to the side. "Or whatever you like," he remedies, as Modi pouts even more at this suggestion. Clearly he and Sleipnir had not been getting along. Jory had no complaints to voice about the redecoration of the nursery. The little snake in question was currently jockeying for a later bedtime. Loki had firmly told him no, and that had been the end of that discussion.

"A boat," Modi says, even though logistically that would make absolutely no sense. Whoever heard of boats smack in the middle of the meadow? But Modi was not budging, the stern set of his lower lip something that Loki had clearly passed on to him. "I want a boat."

Normally Loki would have applauded his son's quite-proficient use of grammar, but, really? A boat? He opens his mouth to protest, but Modi glares him down, and Loki frowns before sighing and acquiescing to his son's demands.

"How you know baybee like fwowers?" Modi demands, and Loki massages his temples, trying to rub away the beginnings of what promises to be a rather vile headache.

"Because your baby sister whispered to me one night that she liked flowers," Loki says firmly, as if this explains everything. "And you want to make the walls pretty for your baby sister, don't you?"

Modi purses his lips, looking for an instant the spitting image of Loki, before looking at the flowers on the wall by the window, where his crib had so recently stood.

"Make the boat big, Mama," he proclaims grandly before picking up Jory and running out of the room.


	166. Logastellus p2

_**Logastellus: **A person whose love of words is greater than their knowledge of words._

Thor absolutely cannot get enough of the small bump that has begun to swell Loki's slender frame, and is hard pressed to leave it alone for even a minute. Sleep offers no respite, either, and Loki often wakes up in the middle of the night to find Thor's fingers laced tightly over his belly.

"It - she - is beautiful," Thor proclaims, after Loki has told him that it will be a girl. Thor doesn't question that fact, and only presses kisses to Loki's belly and coos to his unborn daughter about how glorious she is. "Might we name her Beauty?"

"You want to name her Beauty," Loki says after a moment. Thor nods eagerly.

"Absolutely not."

"But why not?" Thor wants to know, and Loki slaps away his hands which have started to stray towards his belly again. "It is an accurate name."

"You have not even seen the child yet," Loki protests. "Most babies come out looking quite like potatoes. There is no reason why she will be any different."

"Potato?" Modi shouts from the general vicinity of their feet. Loki and Thor ignore it.

"I am sure she will be beautiful. She is your daughter, after all," Thor says, smiling gamely, and Loki feels a grin break out on his own face.

"Why, I do believe that was flattery," Loki says, laughing now in earnest, and Thor laughs along with him. "But I am still not naming our daughter Beauty."

* * *

><p>"Lovely?" Thor wants to know a few weeks later, and Loki rolls his eyes and tells him that that isn't even a proper name.<p>

* * *

><p>"Precious."<p>

"My precious!?" Modi shouts from the general vicinity of their feet. Loki tells both of them that he is definitely not naming their daughter/sister that. For a few reasons.

One being that Loki secretly had fears about some evil overlord who ruled with a bloodshot eye and had black riders with black Pegasii. But nobody was to know that.

* * *

><p>"Gorgeous."<p>

"It sounds like a stripper name," Loki says, and Thor begins to ask him when he has ever been in contact with strippers, before Loki shushes him and asks him when he will run out of synonyms.

Thor looks at him sheepishly. "That's it," he says. "That is all I had the time to memorise before the shoppe owners kicked me out of the bookstore. Disrupting the peace, they said I was turning the pages too violently."

Loki briefly wonders exactly how this is possible, but then again, this is Thor.

"Charming," Loki begins, "bewitching, alluring, exquisite, fascinating," he ticks them off on his fingers as Thor watches in awe, "dazzling, radiant, pulchritudinous."

Thor smiles and draws Loki into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek and listening to Loki's words.


	167. Alamort

_**Alamort: **Half dead of exhaustion._

Steve has been up way before dawn, digging around through his room and the rest of the Tower respectively, trying to find mementoes of his time with Bucky, both from the 1940s and from only a few months before. He previously hadn't known how much trash he'd accumulated, and is currently sitting on the floor of the living room, trying to figure out exactly why a coupon for a bag of grapefruits from the local farmer's market was so important. He turns it over in his hands, swallows hard when he sees Bucky's familiar scrawl, the a's long and loopy and almost like l's, saying that Bucky wanted to make fruit salad, did they put grapefruit in fruit salad? He wasn't sure, after all it was 2014 and Bucky hadn't made fruit salad since the '40s and they probably had significantly more money than they had back in the day, even though grapefruits were maybe only a nickel at the worst of times.

And sure, he might be a super soldier, he thinks as he sneezes yet again, rooting around the attic of the Tower, springing up decades-old dust and memories as he uncovers black and white photos, old uniforms, letters written in the same long-handed scrawl, but that doesn't mean he can't get tired. And he's so tired of this, of trying to pretend that things are okay with Bucky, that it's just some case of lost memory.

You don't lose memories, Steve's convinced. Misplace them, perhaps, but you can't possibly lose them. And when Natasha had told him that maybe it might be a good idea to try to bring the "new" Bucky up to date with things, he'd only nodded and turned his face away so she couldn't see the look in his eyes.

He coughs, sending dust motes swirling through the predawn light of the attic, sighs and sits down, leaning back against old boxes of things he hasn't yet gotten to.

He tenses as he hears a creak at the far end of the attic, his mind racing - Could someone have gotten into the Tower? Was it one of those old Japanese ghosts that died a horrible death and then took revenge on whoever happened to be there at the time (he'd been watching a lot of horror movies lately, per Bucky's insistence)? Perhaps it was a mouse? - before he sees a head of longish dark hair coming up through. He grips at the nearest thing - an old prototype of a shield, made out of nothing more substantial than tin foil - and prepares for battle with the grudge, or the girl from the Ring or something equally horrifying.

"Steve? Is that you?"

He relaxes his grip on the foil shield for a moment.

"Bucky?" he calls back, and watches the figure come towards him, its features becoming more distinct in the soft grey light that is now filtering through the skylight windows.

Bucky plops himself down beside Steve, sneezing as he unsettles a cloud of dust.

"What are you doing up here?" he asks. "I couldn't sleep, it's too cold, and our bed's too big to get properly warm in. What are you doing anyway?" he asks, fingering the tinfoil shield, unaware of the smile that spreads across Steve's face, slow and sticky sweet.

"I'm just looking through some old photos," Steve explains, wrapping an arm around Bucky. "I couldn't sleep either."

Bucky yawns, letting the tin foil shield clatter to the floor. "Well, why don't you come back and try?"

This time, when Steve falls into bed, he finds exhaustion wending its way through his bones and falls asleep, Bucky wrapped soft and securely around him.


	168. Alexithymia

_**Alexithymia: **The inability to express your feelings. _

"I am hungwy," Modi proclaims, and Thor gets up from his seat at his desk, only too glad to be able to have an excuse to get away from his International Relations text. The numbers had started to swim together, and Thor really could not be bothered to memorise all the different realms Midgard had to offer (all 200 something of them, indeed! Loki had already been hard pressed trying to get Thor to memorise the 7 continents, and was in no way inclined to teach him the 50 states). Thor plops down a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes in front of his son and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to laugh as Modi smears a frightening amount of potato onto some ancient text.

"I am tisty," Modi shouts a few moments later, and Thor obligingly leaves his seat yet again to fetch Modi a little sippy cup of apple juice.

"Norns, what IS this?" Loki mutters under his breath a few moments later as he opens the potato-smeared book. He holds up a finger for Thor's inspection, and notes Modi's conspicuous silence. He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to snap. The baby has been particularly antsy today and has not stopped kicking up a jig inside Loki since the early hours of the morning.

"Mama...mad?" Modi asks, stuffing his fingers in his mouth.

"I..." Loki frowns at his son, who already looks suitably cowed. "Mama is not mad." Modi's face brightens at this. "Mama is just -"

He spits out a jötunn word, and Modi looks at him, confused, before running off to go play with his papa.

* * *

><p>Darcy later informs him that the Midgardian expression is: "Not mad, just disappointed."<p>

Loki has not stopped saying that since.


	169. Sehnsucht

_**Sehnsucht**: "The inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what"; a yearning for a far, familiar, non-earthly land one can identify as one's home._

"He looks lonely," Darcy wheedles, tugging Henry away from the frozen chicken display and slipping him back in her sleeve again, where he nuzzles into her palm soft and cuddly. "Don't you think we can maybe go to Jotunheimr and pick Henry up a friend?"

Helblindi vetoes this idea immediately.

Finding Henry a male friend to bond with would be disastrous, and Helblindi still hasn't forgotten the time they took Henry to a rural farm and watched as he ripped apart a rooster before their very eyes. Darcy had claimed it was just something about the age.

Henry had then proceeded to perform some rather inexplicably explicit acts with a hen, who was approximately twenty times his size. Darcy had passed out at that point, and Helblindi had apologised profusely to the horrified farmer.

Henry cheeps forlornly up at Helblindi through the confines of Darcy's sleeve, and he glares down at him, but the frost chicken is not intimidated at all.

Helblindi just sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, and he agrees that he will bring them to Jotunheimr to find a suitable companion for Henry.

* * *

><p>Darcy refuses to leave the castle the minute they get into Jotunheimr, shivering up a storm, and Farbauti engages her in conversation, wrapping her in furs and setting her by the fire, sending Helblindi and Henry off into the frosty darkness.<p>

The instant they step outside the castle's gates, Henry hops from his hand, peeping frantically as he buries himself in a drift of snow that comes up to Helblindi's waist. Helblindi waits for approximately fifteen minutes, during which rather loud squeals and ice-cracking screams emerge from the drift. Sighs before diving into the pile himself, tossing aside piles of snow in an attempt to find Henry before he loses the frost chick forever. Darcy would be heartbroken.

He comes back up with Henry gripped tightly in his fist, the chick fighting every inch of the way and drawing blood along the creases of Helblindi's fingers. Helblindi stuffs him unceremoniously into a pocket and marches back to the castle, trying to ignore the unceremonious peeping from the snow behind him.

* * *

><p>Later that night, Farbauti wakes him in the middle of the night, hissing that they have an urgent problem.<p>

Helblindi rouses himself, careful not to wake Darcy, who is sleeping like a log beside him, and follows his mother to the front windows.

"Oh, oh no," he breathes, watching the swarm of tiny blue frost chicks screaming at the gates.


	170. Novitious

_**Novitious: **Created anew or newly invented._

"Helblindi, would you like to tell me the meaning of this?" Farbauti rounds on Helblindi so quickly it reminds him of the time when he was only 500 years old and had drawn all over the prized wintermoose head that his father had so proudly hung in the front hall to show his prowess as a hunter. He'd given it a monocle and a beard that he privately thought rivaled King Odin's, over in the other realm of Asgard. Helblindi had only seen him once, but he had left quite an impression on him, given his tender age.

"The meaning of what?" Helblindi asks, looking up from his position in the overstuffed armchair in the library. He had been reading up on Midgardian customs, his back resting on one of the plushy arms, his legs dangling over the other, a position much favoured by him and his brothers. Except Byleistr, who in his 3000 years, had never had occasion to step into a library or any other place where reading and education might be pursued.

"I will not have these demons in the house," Farbauti all but yells, gesturing towards Darcy, who is sitting slightly to Helblindi's left.

Helblindi opens his mouth to protest, Darcy certainly is not a demon (although sometimes Helblindi has to wonder), which is before he looks over and sees her covered in fluffy balls of doom.

"What's she saying?" Darcy asks Helblindi from behind a mound of frost chickens. He is thankful she isn't yet fluent in Jötunese, as Farbauti is currently cursing up a storm.

And Henry, smug bastard that he is, nests in Darcy's hair and peeps down at his new children with a pride that Helblindi deeply longs to crush out of the creature.

He sighs and buries his head in his hands and wonders if perhaps the library has any books on taming wild frost chicks. Somehow, he doubts it.


	171. Strikhedonia

_**Strikhedonia: **The pleasure of being able to say "the hell with it."_

Loki is well aware by all standards that frost chickens are supposedly an endangered species, but from the looks of his childhood backyard, it certainly doesn't look that way. Just this morning, three goats went missing and fourteen small fires have started up along the edge of the perimeter, fires that refuse to be squashed out by the constant drifts of snow falling down from the iron sky.

Loki scoffs to himself. And Thor wonders why he ever left.

Speaking of Thor, the great oaf is rolling around with Modi in a huge snow drift a few yards to Loki's left, their laughter hanging in the air like icicles and making Loki smile despite himself.

He rubs absentmindedly at his stomach, where the baby is twitching, a little silver fish under his skin, or that's the way Loki prefers to imagine it.

A herd of frost chicks erupts from a particularly large snow drift about a hundred meters or so in front of Loki, and Helblindi sits down in the snow beside his little brother, sobbing into his hands, something about how he was nowhere near ready for children and how did Loki handle this sort of thing he just wasn't ready not at all.

Loki snorts. Helblindi looked to have become a father, at least three hundred times over, if he was eyeballing the number of chicks scattered around the property correctly.

Loki feels the new baby kick, sending a shock up through his throat, erupting from his mouth as a spout of flames. Helblindi stops from his pouting long enough to gape open-mouthed at his brother, before rubbing at his eyes and asking if Loki could do it again.

Loki opens his mouth to protest - he certainly isn't a trained dog that can do tricks on command - but then the baby kicks again, and he shoots out a jet of flame that almost singes Helblindi's perfectly shaped eyebrows off.

Helblindi covers his face with his ever-present scarf before grasping Loki by the shoulders and pointing him in the direction of the snow drifts.

"To hell with it," his brother mutters, muffled underneath the thick wool of his scarf, "just melt the whole damn backyard, that'll take care of it."

* * *

><p>Once the entire backyard is relatively snow- and chicken-free, Helblindi risks a glance to where the remaining frost chicks are running around, little flames alight on the edges of their blue feathers. He narrows his eyes, watches with a sadistic glee as one of the chicks just pops, decimates itself, in a miniature inferno.<p>

He smiles and turns to tell Loki that it does appear he's turned out useful after all, when Loki points out the window with a shrug.

The chicks, popping like popcorn, are starting to arise from their untimely ashes, bigger, redder, angrier, and significantly uglier than before.

Helblindi sighs as Loki magicks a pitchfork into existence and hands it to him.

"It is your inheritance, you know," Loki reminds him, as he shoos Helblindi out the door, ignoring his brother's protests, and, later, ignoring his brother's screams of "BACK, FOUL BEAST!"

Darcy asks what exactly is going on outside, cuddling a blissfully oblivious Henry to her chest, and Loki just shrugs and tells her Helblindi is in one of those moods again.


	172. Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia

_**Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia**: The fear of long words._

If Modi were just a little bit older, he would declare that reading was a pain in the ass.

However, since he was but a tot, he only managed to voice his displeasure by biting Loki rather fiercely on the arm as Loki reached over to turn the page of his Dr. Seuss book.

"My God," Loki curses to himself in Jötunese, "what circle of hell did you demonspawn crawl out of?"

Modi looks at him innocently and smiles gummily at him, displaying little fangs in the making.

* * *

><p>"Dat word too long," Modi protests as Loki points to the word "mouse." "Longer dan my name."<p>

Loki sighs, rubbing his forehead irritably. "Yes, it is longer than your name. Now do you know what it says?"

"Moose."

Loki opens his mouth to protest, before deciding that "moose" is relatively close to "mouse," and dropping the subject.

* * *

><p>"Dis word vewy vewy long," Modi squeals, jabbing at the word "refrigerator." "I do not wike it."<p>

"I concur," Thor roars from the other end of the room, and Loki almost falls over with the sheer volume he produces.

"Yes, well, you should at least try," Loki says, trying not to lose his temper and simultaneously trying not to laugh helplessly.

Modi squints at the word, sounding out the syllables. "We...fwi...ge...way...tor!" he pronounces after several long minutes.

Loki smiles tiredly at his son, and Modi claps in delight, conjuring a refrigerator out of nowhere that lands directly on Thor's toe.

* * *

><p>Thor asks Loki to please proofread the next few books so as to avoid long words. His son, and his foot, would gladly thank him.<p>

Loki can only oblige.


	173. Cwtsh

_**Cwtsh: **A hug or a cuddle. A safe place; the space or the cupboard under the stairs._

Steve finds him in the closet under the stairs, the one that nobody really uses except to deposit old ties that don't quite shine anymore and boxes of cogs and electrical gadgets that Tony always swears he'll get around to but never does.

"Hey, Buck, what are you doing in here?"

Bucky isn't small - in fact, Steve thinks privately that Bucky is built like a horse, wide in the shoulders and chest, broad, strong, long-limbed and graceful all at once - and it is an incredibly tight squeeze trying to fit the both of them in there. Steve ends up with his shoulder digging into a cardboard box of VCR tapes, some black film spilling out and snagging itself along the places where they touched.

Bucky peeks out at him from where his head is pillowed on his knees, hugged tight to his chest.

"I was just thinking," he says after a moment. "I was trying to remember."

"Remember? Remember what?" Steve asks, a little bit hurt. "I can help you remember."

Bucky shakes his head vehemently. "You can't. You weren't there."

And this is when Steve realises that Bucky is trying to remember where he goes when it goes white, where he goes when he isn't with Steve, where he goes where it hurts, to a place that Steve cannot follow.

Bucky shifts his gaze to a haphazard pile of what looks like Tinker Toys. "This place reminds me of there, kind of. Tight. Suffocating. Dark."

The slight quaver in his voice tells Steve that Bucky is scared, though he doesn't admit it. He sighs and wraps an arm around Bucky, tugging him closer and breathing in the smell of his shampoo.

"If I remember, maybe you can find out what's wrong with me," Bucky whispers into Steve's shoulder, and Steve wraps his arms tightly around Bucky and runs a hand through long, inky hair, and tells Bucky over and over in hushed whispers that he is perfect, absolutely perfect as he is.


	174. Mamihlapinatapai

_**Mamihlapinatapai**: A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something they both desire but which neither wants to begin._

"I can't believe you're actually here," Gwen says, taking a big mouthful of tea and scalding her tongue to distract herself from throwing the whole mug at Peter. "My God, what would your aunt say? And don't the Avengers...well, don't they kind of need you?"

Peter rolls his eyes and bites into a scone, scattering crumbs and smearing clotted cream all over the corners of his mouth; Gwen has to stifle a laugh in the corner of her hand.

"They didn't even ask me to be in the movie," he mutters, pouting, so like a little child that Gwen can't resist leaning over the ironwork table and pinching his cheek. "And I told Aunt Em where I was going, I even told her the flight number and everything before I hitched a ride on it. They didn't even notice me until we were already landing in Heathrow, and let me tell you I feel I got shafted out of at least three complimentary drinks."

Gwen rests her hand on her cheek, sets her elbow firmly on the table, and watches Peter grumble about shoddy flight patterns and how cold it was flying along the clouds, watching the sun dance along the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"What?" Peter asks, after a while, when it becomes apparent that Gwen is no longer listening. "You're looking at me all funny."

He catches her eye, admires the way the London air seems to have drawn the apples in her cheeks just a little rosier, a little riper, a little redder, leans over to twirl a golden curl around his index finger.

"We have to go home," they say at the same time.

"But I still have half the quarter -" Gwen protests

"And no way in hell am I getting on another transatlantic flight," Peter finishes. "Or staying in that poor excuse for a hotel any longer, the bedspreads scratch my skin."

Gwen smiles, an idea - a very not good, absolutely horrid idea - blossoming in her mind.

"I mean, you could stay with me," she says in the same instant that Peter blurts out, "But I mean since you're paying money for a single room and all I could probably, you know."

She smiles, laughing in a way that turns up the corners of her eyes, in a way that Peter absolutely adores.

"I'll just tell the dean that I've suddenly grown a second stomach. Or four," she tells him, standing up and looping her hand through his as they stand up to go home.


	175. Hiraeth

_**Hiraeth: **A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past._

It's like a physical pain deep in the pit of his stomach as Bucky clings to his hand and follows him around Brooklyn, looking around like a lost little puppy.

"It's all so bright," Bucky keeps saying from behind him, and Steve privately has to agree, that's how he felt coming out of the ice for the first time and looking around his old neighbourhood and finding that everything had changed, seemingly overnight. "And there's just...so much." Though Bucky doesn't clarify, Steve knows exactly what he means: The sights, the smells, the sounds are just everywhere, clogging the atmosphere and every available thought, and it's far too much to handle. Steve turns around, ready to wrap Bucky in an embrace, just in case he begins to start breaking down, but he is still looking around in wonder, mouthing the neon words on every storefront to himself.

"Do you remember this?" Steve asks after a while, tugging him down a certain street, past a decrepit movie theater with black-and-white posters hanging listlessly in crooked frames. "Back in the 30s? You remember?"

Bucky stops in the middle of the sidewalk, weeds sprouting around his shoes, squints at a poster for Frankenstein hanging limply in a black frame, its glass scratched and the poster's writing faded.

"We came here before," he says slowly, hesitantly, looking at Steve out of the corner of his eye, as if he is afraid to get the answer wrong. "You and me. Together. Before the war."

Steve smiles, nodding. "And we would sleep over at each other's houses because we were scared of the monster hiding under our beds, coming to get us."

Bucky scoffs, rolls his eyes, a bit of his old sarcasm winding its way through his voice as he remarks, "You must be mistaken about that part. I'm not scared of those things."

"Oh?" Steve asks, quirking an eyebrow at him. "And what exactly is the mighty Winter Soldier scared of?"

Bucky stares at the poster for so hard and for so long that Steve wants to take back his words, stuff them back into his mouth, back into a place where nobody can hear them. "I'm scared of the dark," Bucky says finally, and Steve squeezes his hand in his own in a comforting manner. This admission isn't exactly news to him, but he vividly remembers 1930s Bucky shouting at Steve to hurry up and turn out his nightlight, wasn't he already a big boy, surely he didn't need some stupid little Peter Pan thing to help him sleep. Steve wonders when Bucky started being afraid. Wonders if it will ever stop.

Bucky is the one who drags them away from the theater, down the street, until all Steve can see is the short sloppy ponytail Bucky's tied his hair back in.

Bucky stops so abruptly that Steve runs into his back, extricating himself hastily, apologising, but Bucky isn't listening, staring across the street at a relatively new parking structure that has just recently been sprayed with graffiti.

"This was...home," he says slowly, questioningly, looking over at Steve.

Steve nods, silent, following a short distance behind as Bucky crosses the street, presses his hands against the smooth concrete of the parking structure's columns, pulling his fingers away to find them stained with still-wet paint and dust.

"I'm going to go inside for a while," Bucky says, absentmindedly, rubbing a hand over his face, and Steve is reminded of the first time he saw Bucky in this millennium, masked, teary, face streaked with dirt and blood and motor oil.

"There's just cars in there, you know that, don't you?" Steve asks, but his words fall on deaf ears as Bucky disappears into the darkness of the parking structure, and Steve sighs and braces himself against an iron rail, waiting for Bucky to come out.


	176. Inselberg

_**Inselberg: **An isolated mountain._

"I never really liked this particular mountain anyway," Farbauti says nonchalantly, watching Helblindi open his large burlap sack and watching the little fluffy balls of doom float slowly down through the frosty air, their little wings flapping ineffectively against the cold wind. They land in little mini explosions that Helblindi can hear even from this far distance, seated firmly with his mother on a cloud a few thousand feet above the mountain's summit. "Nobody lives here, nothing grows here, practically a wasteland."

Helblindi wants to point out that the entire realm of Jötunheim is, by definition, an icy wasteland, but he doesn't think that would improve his mother's current mood, given the current amount of frost chickens that have just been released into the world.

"I mean, you have to admit, this place is pretty worthless," Farbauti says, more to herself than to Helblindi, and Helblindi hopes for the realm's sake that nobody actually lives there and nothing valuable actually grows there. "I've never understood what your father found so intriguing about it."

While she is talking, Farbauti makes several gestures with her hands that set her ice bangles to clanking around, and even as Helblindi watches, one breaks free and makes its quick descent to the ground. Farbauti looks down, mouth open in the middle of a sentence, and sets her face in a pout that Helblindi knows only too well from watching Loki throwing tantrums for thousands of years.

"That was a gift from your father, you know," she says after a while, and Helblindi just looks at her, hoping that she isn't implying what he thinks she's implying. After a few moments of awkward silence, she nudges him viciously in the ribs. "I would like you to fetch it for me."

Helblindi doesn't even have the time to make a protest before his mother shoves him off the cloud and he goes plummeting to the ground.

* * *

><p>He emerges from a particularly large snowdrift, spluttering out frost and shaking little frost chicks off his sleeves as he glares up at the sky and presumably at his mother as he begins to root around in the snow for an ice bangle.<p>

He finds the task completely imbecilic and wonders how his mother expects him to find an ice bangle amidst all this...well...ice, before he finds his hand striking something smooth and surprisingly warm.

"What in the Nine?" he mutters to himself, clearing out the rest of the snow and pulling up a large golden box emblazoned with Laufey's name and insignia.

He opens up his father's box, fully expecting some gold or long lost treasure, only to find a neat stack of Jötunese Penthouse magazines.

"Oh, Christ," he mutters, stuffing the box back into the snow and shuddering as he tries not to imagine his father leafing through them.


	177. Cosmogyral

_**Cosmogyral: **Whirling around the universe._

"This world of Disney. It looks particularly amusing."

Thor broached the subject one night at the Avengers Tower, during which Modi had destroyed no less than three arc reactor designs, and had frightened over three thousand civilians in the lower Manhattan area (Loki and Thor had recently watched Skyfall; unfortunately, Modi at the time had been watching Chicken Little and had somehow correlated the two movies and had blessed Manhattan with an abrupt and vivid meteor shower that had people cowering under their beds and posting on Twitter about the #endoftheworld and #apocalypse. Being questioned about this by a rather irritated Tony, Modi had protested that "da gwown-ups aw doing it!" pointing at the television, which was still extolling the wonders of Daniel Craig and 007; Tony was not amused.).

Loki looked over Thor's shoulder at the brochure he was holding. The bright colours and advertising about the "lovely Florida weather" were particularly enticing, and Modi shouted that he too would wish to go, somewhere from the general vicinity of Loki's knees. Loki ignored this.

"I suppose we could do that," he agrees slowly. "Supposedly there is a place of fine cuisine by this park. And it appears as though the place is designed for children, so Modi ought to have a good time."

And so, without further ado, Loki teleported the three (and a half) of them to the place.

Unfortunately, with his limited knowledge of American geography, he somehow managed to land them smack in the middle of the Grand Canyon, then the Canadian border, then Chicago; at this point, Thor asked a nearby civilian for directions to Florida, despite Loki's insistence that "real men didn't ask for directions."

* * *

><p>Florida, in contrast, was not a particularly fun place as advertised on the brochure. It was sticky, humid, and Loki was not fond of the way people kept snapping photographs of him. (They weren't actually photographs of him; he just happened to be standing in front of tourists' cameras at the time while they took pictures of their children, and was selectively deaf to their pleas for him to move aside.)<p>

Thor, after a few of the amusement park's rides, had to agree. He staggered out of the twisty teacups clutching his stomach and looking quite green around the gills while Modi bounced around in glee.

"Imagine that, the mighty Thor," Loki said mockingly through a mouthful of pink cotton candy. "Goes flying around the nine realms with Mjolnir and yet can't even manage a simple Midgardian attraction."

Thor didn't even feel well enough to reply.


	178. Katzenjammer

_**Katzenjammer**: Literally, "cat's wail" and hence "a discordant sound." A bad hangover or a general state of depression or bewilderment._

"I don't think I've ever felt so bad in my life," Tony admits to Emily one morning as he lifts her up from her cradle and carries her over to her changing table. "Oh, don't give me that look," he mock scolds her as she rolls her huge dark eyes at him. "You've been learning that from Mummy, haven't you?" Emily squeals in delight as he sets her down and tickles the bottoms of her toes.

"However, I must make a formal request of you," Tony tells her as he dresses her in a little paisley onesie with daisies embroidered on the front. Emily gurgles up at him, but her expression doesn't indicate compliance. Or understanding, for that matter, but that was an issue for another day. "You see, Daddy has a very important business meeting in a few days, and you have the unfortunate habit of making a ruckus in the middle of the night. It is quite a fearsome sound, and I'm sure Thor would be proud of you if he ever has the...pleasure of watching you for a few days."

Emily burbles up at him, waving tiny hands and tangling her fingers in his goatee.

"I would appreciate it if you could manage to keep the noise under control. Just for a few days. In exchange...I will feed you the sweet potato mash instead of the gross pea stuff Mum likes to give you. Does that sound good?"

Emily smiles gummily at him, and Tony sighs, massages his aching temples, and carries her down to the kitchen for breakfast.


	179. Eccedentesiast

_**Eccedentesiast: **Someone who only pretends to smile. _

Asgard, unfortunately, didn't get television streaming from BBC, and so Loki had resorted to raiding Tony's TiVO tapes of Sherlock and other UK series and taking them back through the Bifrost with him. Unfortunately, the rainbow rays more often than not destroyed the data on the machines, and as a result Loki had only a very patchy, very rudimentary understanding of Sherlock and its storyline.

He'd just finished watching the episode in which Moriarty had his crowning moment, with the shouting in the building, "BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO!" and had skipped to the next episode that the tape had managed to save, which, unfortunately, was the dreaded Reichenbach episode. At the end of the programme, Loki was clutching a pillow to his chest and moaning about how Benedict Cumberbatch couldn't possibly die, his voice was like chocolate dripped over a cello and what a shame it would be if the owner of said lovely voice was really, truly dead -

Thor comes in, Modi cuddled against his chest, to find Loki smiling up at him, his smile all wrong, too tight and stretched across his face, and were those tears in his eyes? Thor ran a scrutinizing eye over Loki's form and, finding nothing amiss, looked at the TV to find a scene of a black marble grave with the words SHERLOCK HOLMES engraved in gold across it.

"Nothing's wrong," Loki blubbered, fooling absolutely no one. "I'm perfectly fine, ugh, just don't look at me," he sobbed, batting Thor away with one hand and scrubbing at his tears with the other.

Thor rolled his eyes, hitched Modi further up on his shoulder, and told Tony a few days later to please not retweet Loki's original Twitter post about said episode, which included the hashtag #don't let them see you cry.


	180. Abluvion

_**Abluvion: **That which has been washed away._

Modi cries, scrabbling at Loki's knees as the beach tide comes in and knocks over his multi-layered sand castle.

"Oh for Norns' sake," Loki says grumpily, "that's just what happens sometimes, you know. Mama can't exactly stop the tides, I'm afraid that particular phenomenon is not under my jurisdiction. I advise you take it up with Ægir or something."

He rubs at his belly absentmindedly, the new baby turning at his touch, a silver fish slick and tumbling through him. Modi runs back towards wet sand, shovel in hand, and begins to furiously build another castle, the loss of the previous one already forgotten.

Loki hopes for his son's sake that he can maintain his naivete for as long as possible. He sighs heavily as he gets to his feet and watches the sun setting over the incoming waves, hoping that his children will not have to learn too soon that forever and eternity is just a state of mind, and promises can be broken as easily as they are made.


	181. Rasasvada

_**Rasasvada: **The taste of bliss in the absence of all thoughts_

If you were to ask Clint what the taste of happiness was a few years ago, he'd tell you that it was the breathing in the icy cold of the winter wind as one stood on top of a skyscraper in Paris. He'd tell you that it was fine wine and chocolates and good cuts of steak, would tell you that it was the taste of the sweetest fruits from the farthest places.

If you were to ask Clint what the taste of happiness was, today, he'd tell you that it was mint toothpaste and the taste of Natasha kissing him awake. He would tell you that it tasted like burnt toast (Natasha, lovely lady that she was, was not particularly skilled in operating kitchen machinery, and burnt toast more often than not), that it tasted like orange juice from concentrate, and instant coffee.

He would tell you that it was like cream, melting in your mouth, the taste of Natasha's skin heavy against his tongue as he pressed kisses to the knobs of her spine, trailing each vertebra with care as she mumbled something in Russian in her sleep.

And he hasn't yet taken her to Paris, hasn't yet shown her his first love, but there are tickets burning holes in his coat pocket, and he thinks that tomorrow might be a good time to present them. But first, a kiss, another, another, and one more, just for good measure.


	182. Quondam

_**Quondam: **Belonging to some time long past; once but no longer_

It is a brisk weekend in early Autumn when Steve takes Bucky to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. He keeps careful track of his face as they enter the museum, notes the shell-shocked stare blanking over Bucky's eyes as they look up through the stairwell, framed photographs taking up every available inch of wall space.

"Really?" Bucky whispers, leaning against the railing of the third floor catwalk and reaching out as though he can touch the people in the photographs. People who have long since died, people who have long since faded away into the recesses of distant memory. Steve once spent an entire day here, from opening until the security guard came up and kindly told him that they were closing the museum for the night and he really would have to go, sorry, but it was just company policy. He'd spent the entire afternoon leaning against the railing of the catwalk, exactly like Bucky was doing now, berating himself over and over again, wondering if just maybe there had been a chance to save the girl in the checked dress, the mother carrying a squirming baby, the group of young men gathered around a wheelbarrow and laughing up at the camera. "All of these people are...dead?"

"Yeah," Steve says, cupping his face in his palms and looking at Bucky from the corner of his eye. He's gone over the information and statistics hundreds, thousands of times in his head, but it doesn't make physically saying it any easier.

He takes Bucky around to the lower floors of the museum, where Bucky presses his hands against the glass and looks up at the old Captain America uniform, looking for all the world like an overeager child.

"This is yours," he says, haltingly. "I...remember it." He squints up at the blue material, beginning to fade and tearing at the cuffs. "Doesn't look quite so good as it did then, I guess."

Steve smiles, places a comforting hand in the hollow of Bucky's back. "It's ancient," he says.

"Kind of like us," Bucky murmurs, and Steve rolls his eyes, forced to remember that Bucky is, after all, also approximately 90 years old.

"Yeah, kind of like us," he agrees, and turns to watch the civilians pass by in the reflections of the glass.


	183. Sgriobhadaireachd

_**Sgriobhadaireachd**: A writer's business._

There was a strange Midgardian legend that Helblindi had heard, something that went like this: "If given infinite time and resources, a team of monkeys with typewriters would eventually recreate the entire works of Shakespeare."

Granted, it was Midgard, and it was a legend that was odd even by Helblindi's standards, and he'd been the recipient of many a wild tale (including the time Loki was about 300 years old and had told him that the Ice Queen in the North had stolen his favourite jacket; Helblindi actually had it on good authority that the Ice Queen in the North was a very decent lady).

But Henry was most certainly not a monkey, and would have taken great offence at that. And he wasn't quite plebeian/hipster/old-fashioned enough to use a typewriter, he would be using a MacBook Air, thank you very much. Darcy was currently infatuated with the way Henry was jumping around, his little wings fluttering as he leapt from key to key and pecked at the caps with his tiny beak.

He cheeped angrily at Helblindi once Helblindi attempted to remove him from the device, and Darcy had laid a protective hand on his feathered head and told Helblindi very sternly that he could make himself of use and go out and buy them coffees, couldn't they see they were doing some serious writing here, and what writer wrote without coffee? Helblindi sighed and left for the nearest Starbucks.

He came back, venti lattes in hand, to find Henry tapping out very furiously what looked like a horrendously explicit and scandalous narrative and Darcy sleeping on the couch.

He set the venti latte down on the coffee table by Darcy and decided that perhaps he and Darcy ought to establish some parental controls on the laptop.


	184. Sophrosyne

_**Sophrosyne**: A healthy state of mind, characterised by self-control, moderation, and a deep awareness of one's true self, and resulting in true happiness._

"You were smiling again in your sleep," Pepper informs him when he wakes up at approximately 7:03 AM, his daughter crying unceremoniously loudly from the other room. She has just started to teeth, and spends much of her waking hours gumming on a ring that Pepper sticks in the fridge. "Good dream?"

"Fairly good," he tells her, rolling over and rubbing at the crick in his neck. "I had a dream that I was back a few years ago getting drunk and spending corporate money on hookers and blow."

Pepper rolls her eyes almost violently and punches Tony in the arm lightly, playfully. "And you've been very good about not getting drunk and not spending corporate money on escorts and drugs. One would even go so far to say as that you're leading a happier lifestyle than you might have been."

"Happier?" Tony slaps his alarm clock, which is beeping irritatingly, and thinks about his daughter, his wife, his company, his friends, "better, perhaps. Happier? Well, corporate money can buy a whole lot of hookers, and a whole lot of drugs."

Pepper rolls her eyes again, but there is a little smile in the corner of her mouth as she shoves a bottle into Tony's hand and tells him to go feed his daughter some breakfast.


End file.
